SAVED 


As  BY  FIRE. 


A   STORY 

'ILLUSTRATING    HOW    ONE   OF   NATURE'S  NOBLEMEN 
WAS   SAVED   FROM   THE  DEMON   OF   DRINK. 


By  T.  S.  ARTHUR: 


Author  of  "  Three  Years  in  a  Man-  Trap,"  "Danger,"  "  Woman  to  the  Rescue? 
"Cast  Adrift,"  etc.,  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

JOHN  W.  LOVELL  COMPANY 
142  TO  150  WORTH  STREET 


,  1881,  BY  HUBBARV  IU06. 


PUBLISHERS'    PREFACE. 


IN  this  work  we  have  one  of  those  intensely  wrought  tem 
perance  stories  for  which  the  author  is  so  distinguished. 
In  the  conception  and  execution  of  this  story,  he  has  taken 
higher  ground  than  usual,  and  lifted  the  subject  of  temperance 
into  the  region  of  spiritual  laws  and  forces.  Rarely  has  the 
insidious  growth  and  overmastering  power  of  appetite,  or  the 
desperate  and  prolonged  struggle  of  an  enslaved  man  for  free 
dom,  been  more  powerfully  exhibited  than  in  the  hero  of  this 
story — a  man  of  education,  social  standing,  high  honor  and  the 
teuderest  home  affections. 

We  follow  him  in  his  downward  course,  step  by  step,  with  an 
almost  breathless  interest  and  suspense — glad  and  hopeful  for 
every  new  effort  that  he  makes  to  overcome  his  pitiless  enemy, 
and  disappointed  and  sorrowful  at  each  successive  failure — 
until  manhood  is  eclipsed,  love  extinguished,  and  honor  a  thing 
of  the  past ;  and  we  turn  away  from  him  at  the  prison  door, 
our  hope  as  dead  as  his  own. 

But  the  man  is  not  lost.  No ;  there  is  ONE  who  can  save  to 
the  uttermost  all  who  come  unto  Him.  And  by  Him  this  man 
is  saved  and  made  a  power  for  good  in  the  salvation  of  many 
who  had  once  been  in  the  same  fearful  bondage  from  which,  in 
the  name  and  by  the  power  of  God,  he  had  been  able  to  get 
free.  Can  any  one  who  reads  what  befell  this  man  in  the  cell, 

J 117734       (v) 


vi  PREFACE. 

where  society  had  shut  him  away  as  a  foul  and  guilty  thing, 
caring  little  whether  he  lived  or  died,  do  so  with  dry  eyes? 
We  think  not.  It  is  something  to  stir  the  heart  profoundly. 
In  this  story  the  author  deals  not  alone  with  the  curse  of  strong 
driuk,  but  with  the  means  of  cure,  and  shows  that  even  with 
the  lowest  and  the  vilest,  reform  is  possible. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
In  the  Demon's  Grip 9 

CHAPTER  II. 
Breaking  Off. 22 

CHAPTER  III. 
Agony  at  Home 35 

CHAPTER  IV. 
All  Gone 44 

CHAPTER  V. 
Almost  in  Despair 57 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Desperate  Struggling 76 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Anxious  Fears 89 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Deceiving  Himself. 100 

CHAPTER  IX. 
Cast  Out 118 

CHAPTER  X. 
The  Floods  Rising 142 

CHAPTER  XI. 
A  Headlong  Plunge 156 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XII. 
In  Prison 172 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
Self-Trust  Dead .193 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
At  the  Reformatory 205 

CHAPTER  XV. 
A  New  and  Better  Life 219 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Fighting  the  Good  Fight 233 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Help  in  Prayer 248 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Gospel  Temperance  Work 261 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
Wonderful  Reformations 278 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Conquering  and  to  Conqu*r 296 

CHAPTER  XXL 
Sowing  Good  Seed 307 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
Solid  Arguments 327 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
The  Evidence  Complete 344 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
The  Happy  Conclusion 363 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


T.  S.  Arthur  (Steel)  FRONTISPIECE. 

The  Devil  of  drink  has  seized  me, ..11 

Soda  water  for  me, 45 

Alexander  Granger  sitting  on  the  pavement, 165 

All  that  the  demon  has  left, 109 

He  fell  with  a  dull,  heavy  sound, 119 

Yes,  worse  than  sick, 197 

No  wine  for  me,  replied  Amy, 309 

By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them,      .     - 839 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN  THE  DEMON'S  GRIP. 

HE  came  in  so  noiselessly  that  I  heard  neither 
the  opening  nor  shutting  of  the  door,  and 
only  became  aware  of  his  presence  when  I  felt  his 
hand  on  my  shoulder. 

Shall  I  ever  forget  the  face  into  which  I  looked  ? 
A  face  so  marred  since  I  had  seen  it  last;  so  pale, 
so  exhausted,  so  helpless  and  despairing,  that  I  was 
not  only  shocked  by  the  sight  but  filled  with  inex 
pressible  pain.  The  hand  which  he  had  laid  upon 
me  was  trembling  violently. 

"  Why  Granger ! "  I  exclaimed,  as  I  started  to  my 
feet.  "What  does  this  mean ? " 

I  saw  the  muscles  of  his  face  quiver  and  spasms 
run  about  his  lips,  as  he  made  an  effort  to  reply. 

"It  can't  be  possible  that  you — " 

I  held  back,  from  an  instinct  of  delicacy,  the 
words  that  were  coming  to  my  lips. 

"Have  fallen  so  low?"  he  said,  in  a  husky, 
shaking  voice,  finishing  the  sentence  which  I  had 
left  incomplete.  Then,  with  a  steadier  utterance: 
"But  it  is  all  too  sadly  true,  Mr.  Lyon.  The  devil 
of  drink  has  seized  me,  and  I  cannot  get  free  from 
the  grip  of  his  terrible  hand ! " 

9 


JO  SAVED 

"Don't  say  that,  my  friend.  You  must  resist  this 
devil  and,  like  all  other  devils,  when  met  by  resist 
ance,  he  will  flee  from  you." 

A  short,  bitter  laugh,  and  then:  "lie  isn't  one  of 
that  kind." 

But,  surely.  Granger,  you  will  not  give  up  your 
manhood  to  the  vice  of  an  appetite?" 

"Vice!  That's  a  little,  easy  sort  of  a  word,  and 
doesn't  seem  to  mean  much,  does  it?" 

He  was  sitting,  now,  and  I  standing  just  in  front 
of  the  chair  he  had  taken.  As  I  looked  at  him 
steadily,  I  saw  more  distinctly  than  at  first  the  rav 
ages  which  intemperance  had  made  upon  his  finely- 
cut,  and  once  handsome  features.  I  had  not  met 
him  before  for  many  months. 

"To  the  demands  of  an  appetite?  Let  me  make 
the  proposition  stronger,"  said  I. 

"Vice,  demand,  curse;  anything  you  choose.  It's 
all  the  same." 

"But  the  will-power  is  above  them  all — can  break 
the  bonds  of  appetite,  and  let  the  man  go  free." 

I  saw  a  change  begin  passing  over  his  face. 

"  Free !  What  would  I  not  give  to  be  free ! " 

"Resolve,  and  it  is  done!  In  a  man's  will  lies 
his  strength.  Neither  Heaven  nor  hell  can  move 
him  if  he  will  not.  Set  your  will  against  this  appe 
tite,  and  will  shall  be  master." 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  gathering  wonder  in  his 
eyes,  as  though  a  new  thought  were  dawning  upon 
his  mind.  His  mouth  became  a  little  firmer;  and 


"The  Devil  of  drink  has  seized  me." 


AS  BY  FIRE.  -ft 

he  raised  his  almost  crouching  form  to  an  erecter 
attitude. 

"If  he  will  not— will  not." 

"Just  so,  my  friend.  If  he  will  not,  all  hell  can 
not  move  him.  Self-mastery  !  Every  man  has  this 
power.  I  have  it;  you  have  it.  It  is  the  common 
inheritance  of  all  men." 

"An  inheritance  sold,  alas!  too  often  for  a  mess 
of  pottage,"  Granger  answered,  bitterly.  "And 
when  once  sold,  has  it  not  gone  hopelessly  out  of 
our  possession  ?" 

"No.  Freedom  to  will  is  a  birthright  which  no 
man  living  can  wholly  alienate.  He  may  at  any 
time  re-assert  his  right  of  inheritance.  You  can  do 
it  now — can  set  your  heel  on  this  serpent  of  appetite, 
and  crush  it  beneath  your  tread.  Be  a  man,  Gran 
ger  !  Let  the  higher  things  that  are  in  you  hold  the 
lower  things  in  subjection.  Let  reason  and  judg 
ment  rule  the  appetites  and  passions,  as  a  master 
rules  his  servants.  This  is  the  common  order  of 
life.  God  has  given  us  reason  as  a  ruler;  and  we 
must  see  that  no  usurper  gain  a  foothold  in  our 
kingdom." 

As  I  spoke  I  saw  the  signs  of  strength  and  confi 
dence  coming  into  Granger's  eyes. 

"  It  is  because  you  have  let  the  sensual  betray  and 
dethrone  the  rational  that  you  are  in  so  sad  a  plight 
to-day.  Will  has  gone  over  to  the  wrong  side." 

"It  shall  come  to  the  right  side  again,  Mr.  Lyon!" 
His  voice  had  a  clear  ring.  "I  see  just  how  it  is. 


12  SAVED 

Will  went  over  to  appetite  instead  of  standing  firm 
by  the  side  of  reason." 

"  Yes ;  you  state  the  case  exactly  as  it  stands,"  I 
said.  "It  was  an  abuse  of  freedom,  so  to  speak. 
You  were  not  compelled  to  drink :  for  appetite  has 
no  power  above  solicitation.  It  cannot  move  your 
hand,  nor  place  a  glass  to  your  lips.  Only  the  will 
has  power  over  the  actions,  and  so  nothing  can  be 
done  without  consent  of  the  will." 

"  I  see !  I  see !"  Mere  light  and  strength  coming 
into  his  face.  "  It  all  lies  with  myself." 

"  All,"  I  answered.  "  There  is  no  help  for  you 
outside  of  your  own  will.  You  stand  self-centered, 
or  equipoised,  with  freedom  to  act  in  the  direction 
of  any  force  that  draws  you,  be  it  good  or  evil." 

"  Thank  you  for  all  this.  I  see  wherein  my  peril 
lies,  and  also  the  line  of  a  new  defence.  I  will  con 
trol  this  dreadful  appetite !  I  will  be  a  man.'^ 

"But,  remember,"  I  said,  "that  eternal  vigilance 
is  the  price  of  safety.  Appetite  is  subtle,  as  well  as 
strong.  It  is  an  enemy  that  never  really  sleeps." 

"  I  know,  I  know !  But  is  not  safety  worth  eter 
nal  vigilance?" 

There  was  in  his  countenance  the  glow  of  a  rising 
confidence. 

"  Ah,  my  friend,"  he  added,  as  he  took  my  hand 
and  held  it  tightly,  "what  would  I  not  do  or  Suffer 
to  be  free  from  this  awful  slavery ;  from  this  bond 
age  to  death  and  hell !" 

"  And  the  way  is  so  plain  and  so  easy,"  said  I, 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  13 

with  all  the  encouragement  I  was  able  to  throw  into 
my  voice.  "  Just  to  will  to  be  free ;  and  then  to 
stand  up  as  a  man.  To  say  to  appetite,  '  So  far  and 
no  farther !' " 

"  It  was  my  good  angel  who  led  me  here,  and  who 
put  these  hopeful  words  into  your  mouth,  my  dear 
old  friend !"  He  spoke  with  much  feeling.  "  I 
haven't  been  home  since  yesterday.  I  was  in  no 
condition  to  meet  my  family  last  night ;  and  am  in 
little  better  condition  this  morning.  You  see,  I've 
not  lost  all  shame  and  all  consideration." 

"  You  will  go  home  now  ?" 

"Yes." 

I  saw  a  shadow  drifting  over  his  face. 

"  Where  are  you  living  ?" 

"  Away  up  town ;  but  not  as  we  used  to  live." 

"Shall  I  go  with  you?" 

He  did  not  reply  at  once ;  but  the  shadows  were 
deeper  on  his  face. 

"  If  you  will."  There  was  a  returning  depression 
in  his  voice ;  and  I  saw  that  his  nerves,  which  had 
grown  steady  under  the  pressure  of  new  thoughts 
and  purposes,  were  giving  way  again.  He  drew  a 
hand  across  his  forehead.  It  was  trembling. 

"  You  remember  Helen  ?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  yes.     How  is  she?" 

There  was  something  like  a  gasp,  or  quick  catch 
ing  of  the  breath.  Then,  with  an  effort  to  control 
his  feelings :  "  Not  as  when  you  saw  her  last.  Ah  I 
sir,  what  a  cruel  devil  this  drink  is !" 


14 


SAVED 


"  Cruel  as  death,"  I  responded,  falling  in  with  his 
thoughts. 

"As  death?  Oh,  no!  Death  is  an  angel  of 
mercy ;  but  drink  is  a  devil  i  My  poor  Helen !" 

What  grief  and  tenderness  were  in  his  voice  as  he 
uttered  the  name  of  his  wife. 

"For  her  sake,  Granger." 

"  For  her  sake !"  He  spoke  with  a  sudden  intense 
earnestness,  while  a  strong  light  flashed  into  his 
eyes.  "If  I  were  to  see  a  wild  beast  rushing  down 
upon  her,  do  you  think  I  would  pause  to  question 
about  consequences  to  myself?  Not  for  a  single 
instant !  What  would  I  not  do,  and  bear,  and  suffer 
for  her  sake !  Ah !  sir,  she  has  been  a  good  wife  to 
me.  So  patient,  so  true,  so  tender  always.  And  I 
have  tried  so  hard,  and  fought  so  hard,  for  her 
sake." 

"And  now  let  the  new  life  you  are  going  to  lead 
find  its  highest  strength  in  these  three  words — For 
her  sake.  Let  the  steady  will  and  the  better  man 
hood  be  for  her  sake.  Hold  the  brief  sentence  ever 
against  your  heart;  set  it  ever  before  your  eyes.  For 
her  sake,  my  friend !" 

"Yes,  for  her  sake,  God  bless  her!"  His  voice 
shook,  and  I  saw  tears  coming  into  his  eyes. 

"What  higher  strength  than  this.  Surely  you 
will  stand  as  a  rock  against  which  the  maddest  bil 
lows  of  temptation  must  break  and  dissolve  into 
foam  and  spray." 

"For  her  sake  I  will  stand  !     For  her  sake,  and 


AS  BY  FIRE.  15 

for  the  sake  of  my  wronged  and  humiliated  children. 
What  a  wretch  I  have  been !  To  fill  the  lives  of 
those  I  love  with  shame  and  sorrow ;  and  for  what  ? 
Just  to  gratify  an  appetite !" 

"Which,  if  you  will  to  deny,  must  always  stand 
denied.  Keep  ever  in  your  thought  the  true  order 
of  life,  which  is  the  subjection  of  the  sensual  to  the 
rational.  If  the  sensual  is  suffered  to  rule,  then  will 
anarchy  and  violence  reign  in  the  kingdom ;  but  if 
reason  keeps  her  seat  of  power,  order,  and  peace, 
and  happiness  will  prevail ;  and  the  sensual  will  be 
as  a  staff  in  the  hand  of  Aaron,  and  not  as  a  biting 
serpent  on  the  ground." 

"Ah !  yes,  it  is  growing  clearer  and  clearer.  All 
danger  lies  in  this  infirmity  of  the  will,  in  this  heark 
ening  to  the  lying  voice  of  a  serpent,  instead  of  to 
our  God-given  reason." 

Granger  was  lifting  himself  with  a  more  as 
sured  air,  and  there  was  a  growing  strength  in  his 
face. 

"I  must  go  home  now,"  he  said,  rising. 

"And  I  am  to  go  with  you  ?" 

Did  I  betray  a  doubt  in  my  voice  ?  Perhaps ;  for 
away  back  and  almost  out  of  sight  in  my  mind  lay 
a  doubt  of  the  new-born  strength  of  this  man's  will. 
It  might  endure  until  he  reached  his  home,  or  it 
might  yield  to  enticement  by  the  way.  He  had  not 
yet  recovered  his  manhood.  Was  still  weak,  and 
must  walk  for  a  time  with  unsteady  steps.  All  this 
I  felt  rather  than  thought. 
2 


1(5  SA  VED 

He  set  his  eyes  on  me  with  a  keen  look  just  for 
an  instant  before  replying. 

"  If  you  care  to  see  what  a  poor  and  wretched 
home  it  is." 

"  I  care  to  give  you  what  help  and  strength  lies 
in  my  power."  I  took  my  hat  as  I  spoke,  and  we 
went  out  together. 

I  had  not  seen  Alexander  Granger  before  for 
nearly  a  year.  He  was  a  lawyer  of  fine  abilities,  and 
in  the  first  ten  years  of  his  practice  at  the  bar  had 
risen  steadily  into  notice,  and  been  connected,  as 
counsel,  with  many  important  cases.  But,  unhappily, 
his  social  nature  led  him  too  often  out  of  the  ways 
of  safety.  It  was  the  old,  sad  story  which  has  been 
told  so  many  and  so  many  times.  Just  in  the  very 
prime  of  his  life,  the'  subtle  power  of  drink  began 
to  bear  him  down.  If  he  had  taken  alarm  at  the 
first  warning  he  received  of  the  establishment  and 
growth  of  this  power,  and  broken  free  from  it  in  a 
single  resolute  effort,  all  would  have  been  well. 
But  here  again  it  was  the  old  story  repeated.  He 
had  faith  in  his  own  manhood ;  in  his  ability  to  go 
just  so  far  and  no  farther ;  to  keep  on  the  edge  of 
danger  and  never  step  across.  And  he  held  to  this, 
even  in  the  face  of  one  lapse  after  another,  until  he 
became  the  slave  of  appetite. 

It  took  years  for  all  this ;  for  he  had  a  strong, 
tough  brain,  and  great  physical  energy ;  and  his 
steadily  increasing  practice  at  the  bar  held  him  in 
earnest  work,  and  for  a  long  time  out  of  the  sphere 


AS  BY  FIRE.  17 

of  apparent  danger.  But  no  brain  can  do  its  best 
under  the  stimulant  of  alcohol.  There  must  always 
come  a  loss  of  clearness.  There  may  be  an  increased 
activity,  but  this  very  activity,  where  the  reason  is 
obscured  and  interests  at  the  same  time  imperilled, 
leads  too  often  to  disaster.  It  happened  so  to  Gran 
ger.  In  the  very  height  of  his  popularity  he  lost  a 
case  of  great  importance.  His  client  did  not  know 
that  on  the  previous  night  he  had  been  over- free  with 
wine  at  a  supper  from  which  he  did  not  get  home 
until  after  the  small  hours  began  ;  and  that  before 
coming  into  court  to  make  his  final  argument,  he 
had  been  compelled  to  steady  his  nerves  with  a 
glass  of  brandy.  No,  they  did  not  know  this ;  but 
what  they  did  know  was,  that  he  failed  to  bring 
out  with  logical  clearness  the  strong  point  in  their 
case,  and  the  one  on  which  they  chiefly  relied. 
Considered  as  a  mere  forensic  display,  it  was  one  of 
the  most  brilliant  ever  heard  in  the  court-room, 
and  men  listened  to  it  breathlessly,  admiring  its 
fine  periods,  its  exhibition  of  learning,  and  its 
wealth  of  imagery  and  illustration  ;  but,  while  it 
extorted  admiration,  it  failed  in  the  chief  essential 
of  a  legal  argument,  working  no  conviction  on  the 
minds  of  the  twelve  men  with  whom  the  decision  of 
the  case  rested. 

It  was  Granger's  first  great  failure.  Did  no 
suspicion  of  the  real  cause  intrude  itself  upon  his 
thoughts  ?  Yes  ;  but  it  was  thrust  out  as  false  and 
unworthy.  His  head  was  never  clearer,  nor  his 


18 


SAVED 


mind  more  active.  So  he  declared  to  himself  in 
his  quick  rejection  of  the  very  truth  it  so  much 
concerned  him  to  know.  But  the  incident  troubled 
him;  and  in  the  face  of  his  effort  to  look  away 
from  the  real  cause  of  failure,  and  to  count  it  as 
nothing,  he  made  an  almost  involuntary  resolution 
to  abstain  from  any  free  use  of  stimulants  for  some 
days  before  arguing  another  important  case ;  and 
for  more  than  a  year  he  acted  upon  this  resolution. 

But  his  wine  at  dinner,  his  exchange  of  drinking 
courtesies  with  friends,  and  his  indulgence  at  sup 
pers  and  social  parties,  gradually  depraved  his 
appetite,  and  it  grew  to  be  more  and  more  exacting. 
For  awhile  only  a  single  glass  had  been  taken  with 
his  dinner.  Then  there  was  an  occasional  second 
glass,  and  in  time  two  glasses  became  the  regular 
custom.  A  third  glass  now  and  then  marked  the 
steady  growth  of  appetite.  So  it  went  on,  with  a 
slow  but  sure  increase,  until  it  was  no  unusual  thing 
for  Granger  to  drink  half  a  bottle  of  wine  every 
day  with  his  dinner ;  and  to  finish  the  bottle  before 
going  to  bed. 

Fame  and  fortune  were  just  within  his  reach. 
He  was  regarded  as  the  ablest  of  all  the  rising  men 
at  the  bar  of  his  native  city,  and  many  of  the  best 
cases  were  coming  into  his  hands,  when  the  evidences 
of  blight  and  failure  of  power  became  visible.  After 
losing  the  case  to  which  I  have  referred,  he  was  on 
guard  for  a  long  time ;  but  the  steadily  increasing 
use  of  stimulants  wrought  its  natural  result  on  his 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  IQ 

brain,  and  his  second  great  failure  in  court  was  due 
in  all  probability  as  much  to  a  complete  abstinence 
from  drink  as  the  first  was  to  its  use  arid  the 
unhealthy  excitement  that  followed. 

This  loss  of  mental  clearness  in  consequence  of  a 
loss  of  the  usual  brain-tonic,  was  a  fact  far  more 
patent  to  Granger's  mind  than  had  been  the 
other  fact  of  loss  of  mental  clearness  through  un 
usual  stimulation,  and  he  resolved  not  to  risk 
another  experiment  of  the  kind,  but  rather  to  give 
his  nerves  a  firmer  tone  by  an  extra  glass  on  the 
eve  of  every  specially  important  effort  in  court.  It 
is  surprising  how  men  who  are  clear-seeing  as  to 
cause  and  effect  in  almost  everything  else,  can  be  sc 
blind  about  the  ultimate  result  of  repeated  and  in 
creasing  stimulation  on  that  wonderful  and  delicate 
organism,  the  brain.  It  shows  how  subtle,  and 
strong,  and  self-deceiving  is  the  sensual  side  of  our 
nature,  if,  instead  of  holding  it  in  strict  subordina 
tion  to  reason  and  the  laws  of  order,  we  give  it  the 
rein,  and  submit  even  partially  to  its  rule. 

After  this  second  important  failure,  and  Granger's 
clear  apprehension  of  the  proximate  cause,  he  did 
not  again  venture  on  complete  abstinence  as  a  safe 
preparation  for  entrance  upon  a  legal  conflict  in 
which  large  interests  hung  on  victory  or  defeat. 
But,  for  all  this,  he  was  never  able  to  bring  to  his 
cases  the  clear  logic  and  force  of  argument  for 
which  he  had  once  been  distinguished.  He  had,  in 
fact,  reached  his  highest  point  of  success  and  repu- 


20 


SAVED 


tation ;  and  as  the  causes  which  had  checked  his 
upward  movement  were  still  in  force,  and  his  power 
of  resistance  waning,  it  was  not  long  before  the 
downward  change  became  apparent  to  all. 

And  now,  his  nearest  friends  began  to  warn  and 
to  expostulate.  But  only  after  some  disgraceful  fall 
from  sobriety,  was  heed  taken,  and  efforts  at  reform 
made.  It  was  the  old  story,  as  we  have  said.  Fall 
ing,  falling  slowly.  Then  a  pause  and  a  rallying  of 
strength,  and  an  effort  to  move  upwards  again.  And 
then  a  yielding  to  the  downward  drag.  He  did  not 
at  this  time  show  himself  to  the  world  as  a  common 
drunkard ;  and  the  people  who  met  him  on  the 
street,  at  his  office,  or  in  the  court-rooms,  rarely 
saw  him  so  much  under  the  influence  of  liquor  as 
to  betray  the  fact  in  any  marked  way ;  and  yet,  all 
could  see  that  he  was  becoming  the  slave  of  drink, 
and  that  his  utter  ruin  was  only  a  matter  of  time, 
unless  there  should  come  a  total  change  in  his 
habits. 

Down,  down,  the  descent  becoming  more  rapid. 
Sudden  stoppages,  as  one  strong  influence  after 
another  was  brought  to  bear  upon  him ;  solemn 
promises,  and  pledges  of  reform  ;  firm  standing  for 
brief  periods ;  and  then,  down,  down  again !  And 
thus  it  went  on  for  years ;  and  there  came  loss  of 
an  honorable  position  at  the  bar ;  loss  of  practice ; 
loss  of  social  status ;  moral  weakness  and  degrada 
tion  ;  poverty  and  wretchedness.  And  still,  there 
Were  intermitted  struggles  with  the  enemy,  and 


AS  BY  FIRE.  21 

efforts  to  rise  into  a  true  manhood.  A  sad,  sad 
history,  running  through  years  of  increasing  dis 
aster,  humiliation  and  sorrow,  until  he  had  reached 
the  level  on  which  the  reader  finds  him. 

Yet,  as  has  been  seen,  some  hope  and  strength 
were  yet  remaining ;  some  feeling  of  self-respect, 
and  an  unextinguished  love  for  his  unhappy  wife 
and  wronged  and  suffering  children,  for  whom  he 
would  have  braved  any  physical  peril — even  death 
itself. 


CHAPTER  II. 

BREAKING  OFF. 

46  T  HAVE  taken  a  dozen  pledges,"  said  Granger, 
J-  as  we  passed  into  the  street ;  "  but  they  are  as 
flax  to  fire  when  this  thirst  seizes  upon  me." 

"  Because,"  I  answered,  "  they  are  only  external 
bonds;  and  if  the  inner  force  be  against  them,  they 
will  break  should  the  force  be  stronger  than  the 
bond.  There  is  safety  only  in  the  strength  of  an 
internal  integrity.  The  will  must  be  strong  and 
true.  If,  to  change  the  figure  of  speech,  the  will  be 
set  to  guard  the  door,  no  enemy  can  make  a  breach 
unless  the  will  be  corrupted.  So  long  as  the  will  is 
true,  the  man  is  safe.  No,  no.  Put  no  trust  in 
pledges  nor  promises.  They  are  things  outside  of 
you,  so  to  speak.  Mere  bonds,  weak  or  strong,  as 
the  case  may  be.  You  must  trust  in  yourself — in 
the  strength  of  your  will — in  your  manhood  and 
self-centered  power.  Here  is  your  only  true  abiding. 
The  pledge  may  be  well  enough  as  a  rallying  point 
where  a  first  stand  is  made  against  the  enemy ;  but 
the  man  must  fight  it  out  to  the  bitter  end,  and  that 
in  himself  and  by  himself.  There  is  no  other  hope. 
No  arm  but  his  own  can  save  him." 

We  walked  in  silence  for  almost  the  distance  of 
22 


AS  BY  FIRE.  23 

a  block  before  Granger  made  any  reply.     He  was, 
evidently,  pondering  what  I  had  said. 

"No  arm  but  his  own  arm?"  He  stopped,  and 
turning,  fixed  his  eyes  steadily  on  my  face,  with  a 
look  in  them  that  I  scarcely  comprehended. 

"  If  a  man  fight  not  for  himself,  who  shall  fight 
for  him  ?  This  enemy  is  within,  and  the  man  him 
self  must  cast  him  out.  I  cannot  fight  the  battle  for 
you ;  nor  can  any  one  else.  It  is  your  own  strong 
right  arm  that  must  bring  the  victory." 

"  Is  there  no  help  in  God  ?"  There  was  an  eager 
thrill  in  his  voice  as  he  put  the  question. 

"  Of  course,"  I  replied,  a  little  coldly.  "  But  we 
must  be  careful  not  to  confound  things.  A  false, 
or  irrational  trust,  is  worse  than  no  trust  at  all,  for 
it  will  surely  betray.  God  helps  those  who  help 
themselves ;  who  use  in  right  and  orderly  ways  the 
strength  He  gives  to  every  man.  I  know  of  no 
means  by  which  to  get  help  from  God  but  in  the 
right  use  of  the  faculties  with  which  He  has  endowed 
us.  They  are,  of  course,  God-given,  for  He  is  our 
Maker.  But  He  does  not  live  for  us,  nor  work  for 
us,  nor  fight  for  us.  All  these  we  must  do  for  our 
selves." 

I  saw  the  light  go  slowly  out  of  his  face  as  he 
dropped  his  eyes  to  the  ground,  and  moved  forward 
again.  Something  like  a  shadow  and  a  chill  came 
upon  my  own  feelings,  and  my  mind  seemed  to  pass 
into  an  obscuring  cloud.  Had  I  spoken  truly  ?  Was 
there  no  other  help  in  God  but  this  that  I  had  said  ? 


24  SA  i"£Z) 

It  was  all  very  clear  to  me  while  I  was  speaking; 
but,  somehow,  my  strong  assurance  was  all  at  once 
broken,  and  I  felt  as  one  drifting  to  sea.  I  had 
.been  laying  out  this  man's  course  for  him,  and  now 
'I  \\  as  in  doubt  myself. 

"  You  may  be  right  about  it,  Mr.  Lyon,"  Granger 
Baid,  after  another  long  silence.  "  But  it  seems  to 
put  God  so  far  away.  To  take  from  Him  all  pity, 
and  tenderness,  and  love.  He  will  help  me  if  I  try 
to  help  myself;  but,  unless  I  do  this,  He  will  not  so 
much  as  reach  out  His  hand,  though  the  billows  be 
going  over  me !" 

Even  above  the  noise  of  the  street  I  heard  the 
sigh  that  came  with  the  closing  of  this  last  sentence. 

"  Is  not  His  hand  always  reached  out  ?"  I  an 
swered  ;  "  and  is  it  not  because  we  refuse  to  take 
hold  of  it  that  we  are  not  saved  ?" 

"  I  don't  know."  He  spoke  in  a  dreary,  depressed 
tone  of  voice.  "  If  one  could  see  the  hand,  and  be 
sure  it  was  God's." 

"  What  is  the  hand  of  God  but  the  power  that  is 
within  us  from  Him  ?  The  power  to  will  and  to  do 
what  is  right ;  to  stand  fast  in  the  front  of  tempta 
tion  ;  to  walk  securely  in  the  strength  He  gives  us  ? 
We  grasp  His  hand  when  we  use  this  power." 

"  Doubtless  it  is  so ;  but  our  poor  eyes  have  be 
come  very  dim-sighted." 

He  was  silent  again,  and  I  began  to  feel  troubled 
about  his  state  of  mind,  lest  a  depressing  sense  of 
weakness  should  destroy  that  confidence  in  his  own 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  25 

strength  of  will  with  which  I  was  seeking  to  inspire 
him. 

"  We  may  be  very  sure  of  one  thing,  Mr.  Gran 
ger/'  I  said,  repeating  my  former  proposition, 
"  the  true  order  of  life  is  the  government  of  reason. 
This  must  rule  over  all  the  lower  things  of  sense. 
The  appetites  and  passions  must  be  held  in  complete 
subjection.  God  is  with  us,  and  in  us ;  gives  us  of 
II is  strength,  and  keeps  us  in  safety,  so  long  as  we 
maintain  this  true  order  of  life.  If  we  will  not 
maintain  it,  He  cannot  do  it  for  us ;  and  the  same 
law  must  rule  in  restoration  and  cure  as  in  normal 
order.  We  must  take  the  strength  God  is  always 
giving,  and  use  it  for  ourselves.  We  would  be  only 
machines  if  He  merely  lived  in  us  as  the  mainspring 
of  all  our  actions." 

"  No  help,  no  love ;  only  laws  of  order.  "No 
pitying  face,  nor  tender  voice,  nor  bending  form. 
No  quick,  grasping  hand  as  we  send  out  the  de 
spairing  cry,  '  Save,  Lord,  or  we  perish !' ' 

"Don't  let  us  talk  any  more  about  this,  Mr. 
Granger,"  said  I.  "It  is  troubling  you  and  con 
fusing  your  mind ;  and  now,  above  all  things,  you 
need  to  be  calm  and  clear-seeing,  for  it  is  clear-see 
ing  that  makes  safe  walking." 

We  were  not  far  from  his  home  now,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  were  at  the  door.  What  a  poor  little 
home  it  was  as  compared  with  that  luxurious  one  in 
which  I  had  many  times  been  a  guest  in  former 
years.  Little  better  than  that  of  an  humble  day- 


23  SAVED 

laborer.  I  felt  a  chill  and  a  heart-ache  as  my  eyes 
looked  upon  it,  and  I  remembered  the  beautiful 
home  in  which  Mrs.  Granger  had  once  presided. 
She  was  a  woman  of  more  than  ordinary  culture  and 
refinement.  In  stature  below  the  common  height, 
with  regular  though  not  strikingly  handsome  fea 
tures.  Her  eyes  made  the  fine  attraction  of  her 
face;  they  were  large,  and,  in  color,  of  a  dark 
hazel,  with  a  perpetual  changing  of  aspect  and 
a  restlessness  of  movement  that  was  very  peculiar. 
But  you  saw,  in  all  these  changing  hues  and  as 
pects,  that  they  were  true  eyes,  and  beautiful  as 
true. 

Granger  took  a  latch-key  from  his  pocket  as  we 
paused  at  the  door. 

"Shall  I  go  in?"  I  asked.  "It  might  not  be 
pleasant  for  Mrs.  Granger." 

He  did  not  answer,  but  threw  the  door  open,  and 
made  a  motion  for  me  to  enter.  There  was  a  narrow 
hall,  covered  with  a  worn  and  faded  carpet.  From 
this  we  passed  into  a  small  parlor,  in  which  were  a 
few  articles  of  furniture,  remnants  of  better  days. 
There  were  no  pictures  on  the  walls  beyond  a  few 
photographic  likenesses  and  two  fine  miniatures  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Granger.  Once  they  possessed  many 
rare  paintings.  Plain  Holland  shades  hung  at  the 
windows.  Though  everything  was  in  order,  there 
was  a  certain  chill  and  desolateness  in  the  atmosphere 
of  the  room  that  struck  me  sensibly.  It  might  have 
come  from  the  contrast  I  saw  between  this  and  the 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  27 

large  and  luxurious  parlor  in  which  I  had  last  met 
this  unhappy  family. 

But  I  had  scarcely  time  to  notice  my  surround 
ings,  or  to  question  my  state  of  feeling,  before  quick 
feet  were  heard  on  the  stairs,  and  in  a  moment  after 
wards  Mrs.  Granger  stood  at  the  parlor  door  with 
wide-open,  eager,  questioning  eyes ;  now  fixing  them 
upon  me,  and  now  upon  her  husband. 

"Mr.  Lyon;  you  remember  him." 

I  reached  out  my  hand  as  her  husband  gave  my 
name.  A  faint  tinge  of  color  rose  to  her  pale  face. 
Ah,  how  changed  and  wasted  ! 

She  did  not  repeat  my  name,  and  I  was  not  cer 
tain  that  she  recognized  me.  For  a  moment  only 
did  her  eyes  rest  on  me ;  then  they  went  swiftly  to 
her  husband.  I  saw  a  throb  in  her  throat,  and  a 
flush  and  thrill  quickening  on  her  face. 

"There  is  going  to  be  a  new  order  of  life,  Mrs. 
Granger,"  said  I,  breaking  the  silence  and  panto 
mime.  "And  the  old  days  are  coming  back 
again." 

"A  new  life,  Helen!  Yes,  a  new  life,  God  help 
ing  me !  And  the  old  better  days  again." 

I  saw  the  lips  that  had  been  closely  shut,  fall 
apart,  and  the  large  eyes  grow  larger.  There  was  a 
statue-like  stillness ;  then  a  faint,  smothered  cry,  and 
a  dropping  down  of  the  quivering  face  on  Granger's 
breast.  My  eyes  were  dim  with  sudden  tears,  but  I 
could  see  the  husband's  arms  fold  themselves  closely 
about  the  small,  light  form  of  that  true,  patient, 


28 


SAVED 


long-suffering  one  in  whose  heart  love  had  never 
failed. 

I  would  have  gone  out  and  left  them  EO,  but  that 
might  not  be  well ;  so  I  waited  for  this  first  strong 
tide  of  feeling  to  ebb.  They  were  still  standing — 
Mrs.  Granger's  face  hidden  on  her  husband's  breast, 
and  his  arms  clasping  her  tightly — when  the  sound 
of  other  feet  on  the  stairs  was  heard,  and  in  a  mo 
ment  after  a  beautiful  girl  stood,  with  startled  eyes, 
at  the  door  of  the  little  parlor. 

"Oh,  it's  father !"  she  ejaculated.  Then  on  seeing 
me,  she  shrunk  back  a  step  or  two,  with  a  timid  air, 
the  blood  rising  to  her  temples. 

"Is  anything  the  matter?"  she  asked,  in  a  panting 
voice,  as  a  scared  expression  came  into  her  face. 

"Yes,  something  good,"  I  answered,  quickly. 

On  hearing  this,  Granger  withdrew  one  of  his 
arms  from  about  his  wife,  and  holding  it  out  toward 
the  girl,  said :  "  My  daughter !" 

Gliding  past  me  with  a  rapid  motion,  she  threw 
herself  within  the  extended  arm,  and  mother  and 
>hild  lay  held  in  a  single  strong  embrace. 

So  I  left  them,  passing  out  with  noiseless  feet. 
For  stranger  eyes  all  this  was  too  sacred ;  and  I  felt 
Ihat  it  was  best  for  them  to  be  alone. 

Next  day  I  called  at  Mr.  Granger's  office,  and 
?>und  him  at  his  desk,  busy  over  some  law  papers, 
filings  about  him  had  a  look  of  new-made  order,  as 
if  there  had  been  a  recent  general  setting  to  rights ; 
and  something  in  his  personal  appearance  gave  the 


AS  BY  FIRE.  29 

same  impression.  There  was  a  bright  flash  in  his 
eyes  as  he  lifted  them  in  recognition,  and  I  saw  a 
marvelous  change  in  his  face ;  and,  indeed,  in  his 
whole  aspect. 

"All  right,"  I  said,  cheerily,  as  I  grasped  his  ex 
tended  hand. 

" All  right,  thank  God!" 

"And  right  once  for  all,"  said  I,  in  a  confident 
tone. 

"  Yes ;  once  for  all.  Somehow,"  he  added,  "  I 
feel  stronger  than  I  have  ever  felt  before ;  more  self- 
centered,  and  with  a  firmer  grasp  on  the  rein.  The 
fact  is,  Lyon,  you  gave  me  a  new  thought  yesterday, 
and  I've  been  looking  at  it  and  holding  fast  to  it 
ever  since ;  and  the  more  I  look  at  it,  and  the  longer 
I  keep  hold  of  it,  the  more  assured  do  I  feel.  I  see, 
as  I  never  saw  before,  where  the  danger  lies.  It  is 
the  weak  will  that  betrays." 

"  Always,"  I  made  answer.  "  If  the  will  be  true 
and  strong,  the  man  is  safe.  Appetite  can  do  noth 
ing  if  the  will  be  firm  in  denial.  Never  forget  this. 
In  the  hour  of  temptation,  it  is  the  '  I  will,'  or  the 
'  I  will  not/  that  determines  everything.  There  is 
not  a  devil  in  hell  subtle  enough  to  betray  a  man  if 
he  meet  him  with  the  all  powerful  '  I  will  not !' " 

"I  believe  you,  my  friend." 

There  was,  I  did  not  fail  to  notice,  more  confi 
dence  in  Granger's  words  than  in  his  voice;  and 
this  gave  me  a  slight  feeling  of  uneasiness. 

"  Hold  on,  as  with  hooks  of  steel,  to  your  faith  in 


30 


SAVED 


yourself — in  the  strength  of  your  God-given  man 
hood.  If  the  tempter  comes,  say  '  No !'  as  you  will 
always  be  able  to  say.  It  is  the  weak,  the  doubting, 
the  half-hearted  who  fall." 

As  we  talked,  a  gentleman  named  Stannard  came 
in.  On  seeing  the  change  in  Granger's  appearance, 
he  said :  "  Been  turning  over  another  new  leaf, 
I  see.  Glad  of  it  from  my  heart.  And  now, 
friend  Granger,  what  is  to  be  the  first  writing 
thereon  ?" 

" /  will  not"  was  the  firmly  spoken  answer. 

"  Good  as  far  as  it  goes." 

"  What  more  ?"  asked  Granger. 

"  God  being  my  helper." 

"  Is  not  God's  strength  in  every  true  '  I  will '  or 
*I  will  not?"  said  I,  speaking  before  Granger  had 
time  to  answer,  for  I  was  afraid  of  some  confusion 
)>eing  wrought  in  his  mind. 

"  There  is  no  good  thing  that  does  not  come  from 
God,"  was  the  calmly-spoken  answer.  "  In  Him 
we  live,  and  move,  and  have  our  being." 

"  No  reflecting  man  will  deny  that.  But  the 
grave  and  practical  question  is,  how  does  God  be 
stow  His  good  things  ?  What  are  the  laws  of  order 
by  which  He  acts  with  men  ?" 

"  Love  is  His  great  law,"  said  Mr.  Stannard. 

"We  all  believe  that;  but  love  works  through 
orderly  means.  If  a  man  wilfully  close  his  eyes, 
God  cannot  make  him  see.  If  he  shut  himself  away 
in  a  dungeon,  God  cannot  give  him  light.  If  he 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  31 

*  will  not/  God  cannot  save  him,  though  all  day  He 
stretches  forth  His  merciful  hand." 

"  No  one  will  question  that,  I  presume,"  was  an 
swered.  "  But  now  we  have  the  other  proposition 
under  consideration.  It  is  the  '  I  will  not'  of  our 
friend  here  as  set  against  temptation.  Now,  under 
what  law  is  he  to  get  God's  help  ?" 

"  It  will  come  to  him  in  his  effort  to  do  right." 

"'Ask  and  it  shall  be  given  unto  you.  Seek  and 
ye  shall  find.  Watch  and  pray,  lest  ye  enter  into 
temptation.  Come  unto  me.'  These  are  the  Lord's 
own  words ;  and  do  they  not  mean  that  we  are  to 
do  something  more  than  what  your  answer  indi 
cates.  Will  all  the  help  needed  come  without  the 
asking  ?" 

"As  if,"  I  said,  with  a  slight  tremor  of  feeling  in 
my  voice,  "  as  if  God  held  back  for  man's  formal 
asking  ?  As  if  His  infinite  love  were  not  forever 
yearning  to  save  ?  and  forever  flowing  with  divine 
strength  into  every  effort  to  fight  against  evil.  It  is 
in  man's  will  where  he  is  truly  potential ;  and  he 
must  set  his  will  against  allurement,  and  stand  in 
the  strength  of  his  true  manhood." 

"  But  suppose  the  will  has  become  so  sickly  and 
depraved  that  it  cannot  receive  a  just  measure  of  life 
and  strength  from  God  ?  When  an  organ  in  the 
human  body  is  diseased  it  is  no  longer  able  to  do  its 
proper  work,  though  the  heart  be  perpetually  send 
ing  for  its  use  a  due  portion  of  healthy  blood.  If 
the  will  were  in  order,  we  might  trust  to  the  will ; 
3 


32  SA  VED 

but,  alas!  it  is  net.  It  is  diseased;  and  without 
help  from  the  Great  Physician,  will  fail  in  the  work 
of  its  office.  Nay,  nay,  friend  Granger,  put  no 
faith  in  your  '/  will  not]  unless  you  write  also  on 
the  leaf  of  the  new  page  you  have  turned,  'God 
being  my  helper?  If  this  be  not  done  all  your  good 
purposes  will  avail,  I  fear,  but  little." 

"Anything  to  give  our  friend  strength,"  I  re 
plied.  "  It  will  do  no  harm  for  him  to  write  as  you 
say ;  only  let  him  not  lose  faith  in  himself  because 
of  his  trust  in  God.  It  is  just  here  that  the  danger 
lies.  It  is  the  clear-seeing,  as  I  have  said  to  him, 
that  makes  the  safe-walking.  If  we  do  not  know 
the  way,  we  are  all  the  while  in  danger  of  stum 
bling." 

"'I  am  the  way,  and  the  truth,  and  the  life/"  said 
Mr.  Stannard.  "  If  we  go  to  Him,  shall  we  be  in 
any  danger  of  losing  our  way  ?  I  think  not." 

As  we  talked,  Granger  looked  first  at  one  of  us 
and  then  at  the  other,  hearkening  carefully  to  what 
we  said,  and  evidently  weighing  the  import  of  our 
words.  That  all  was  not  clear  to  him,  was  evident 
from  his  manner.  I  dropped  the  argument,  in  fear 
that  his  mind  might  get  confused,  and  that,  while  in 
this  unsettled  state,  his  old  enemy  might  rush  in 
upon  him  and  bear  him  down  ere  he  had  time  to 
arrange  his  order  of  defence. 

Mr.  Stannard  had  called  on  a  matter  of  business, 
and  on  becoming  aware  of  this,  I  withdrew  from  the 
office  and  left  him  alone  with  Granger.  I  carried 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  33 

away  with  me  an  uneasy  feeling.  Mr.  Stannard 
was  a  man  for  whom  I  had  great  respect.  He  was 
a  prominent  church  member,  and  active  in  Christian 
work ;  and  so  far  as  my  knowledge  of  him  went,  his 
life  among  men  was  blameless.  But  my  philosophy 
of  religion  differed  in  some  essential  points  from  his. 
We  both  held  to  the  necessity  of  a  pure  life ;  but 
were  not  in  agreement  as  to  the  means  whereby  this 
purity  of  life  was  to  be  attained.  He  held  to  the 
power  of  grace,  through  faith,  as  the  only  means 
whereby  man  could  be  saved — at  least,  so  I  had 
understood  him — I  to  man's  innate  force  of  will, 
into  which  strength  would  flow  from  God  the  in 
stant  his  will  moved  in  a  right  effort.  My  fear  now 
was,  that  Mr.  Stannard  might  undo  the  work  I  had 
attempted,  and  destroy  Granger's  faith  in  himself, 
leaving  him  to  a  blind  confidence  in  some  outside 
help  which  might  never  come.  This  was  the 
ground  of  my  uneasiness. 

I  did  not  see  Granger  again  for  several  days ;  and 
then  our  meeting  was  in  a  public  thoroughfare,  and 
for  a  few  moments  only.  His  face  was  clear  and 
bright,  and  his  air  manly  and  assured. 

"  All  right !"  I  said,  as  I  took  his  hand. 

"All  right,"  he  responded,  giving  me  a  strong 
returning  grip. 

"  Standing  fast  by  '  I  will  not.' " 

"  Standing  fast,"  was  his  answer,  a  slight  change 
in  the  expression  of  his  countenance. 

It  was  on  my  lips  to  say :  "  Don't  forget  that  the 


34 


SAVEb 


will  is  the  man ;  and  that  all  hell  cannot  move 
him  if  the  will  stand  fast."  But  I  held  the  sen 
tence  back  from  an  impulse  I  did  not  quite  under- 
etond.  So  we  parted,  each  going  his  way. 


CHAPTER  III. 

AGONY  AT  HOME. 

MRS.  GRANGER  was  in  church  this  morn 
ing,"  said  my  wife,  on  coming  home,  a  few 
Sundays  afterward. 

"Ah!     How  did  she  look?" 

"  The  sight  of  her  brought  tears  into  my  eyes 
How  much  she  has  changed.  And  she  looked  so 
poor  and  humbled." 

"  Was  any  one  with  her?" 

I  did  not  put  the  question  that  was  in  my  thought; 
but  the  one  I  asked  would  bring,  I  doubted  not,  the 
answer  I  wished  to  hear. 

*'  Yes ;  a  sweet  young  girl — her  oldest  daughter 
Amy,  I  presume.  The  beautiful  child  has  grown 
almost  to  a  woman  since  I  saw  her  last." 

"No  one  else?" 

"No." 

Though  I  had  not  been  to  church  myself,  and  had 
not  much  faith  in  Sunday  religious  services,  judg 
ing  of  them  by  their  influence  on  a  majority  of  my 
church-going  acquaintances,  I  could  not  help  feeling 
regret  at  the  fact  of  Mr.  Granger's  absence.  Some 
how,  the  impression  took  hold  of  me  that  it  would 
have  been  better  and  safer  for  him  to  have  gone  to 
35 


36  .  SAVED 


church ;  and  the  fact  that  he  had  not  accompanied 
his  wife  left  on  my  mind  a  vague  sense  of  uneasi 
ness.  Where  had  he  gone ;  and  what  were  the  in 
fluences  which  had  been  around  him  on  this  day  of 
freedom  from  daily  work  and  the  thought  and  care 
of  business  ? 

"  Mr.  Granger  was  not  there,"  said  I,  wishing  to 
be  altogether  sure  about  the  matter. 

"No."  Then,  after  a  little  silence,  Mrs.  Lyon 
said,  "  I  was  sorry  not  to  have  seen  him  with  his 
wife." 

It  was  on  my  tongue  to  express  the  regret  I  was 
myself  feeling,  but  as  my  wife  and  I  were  not  wholly 
in  agreement  on  the  subject  of  church-going,  I  did 
not  care  to  commit  myself  so  far  as  to  give  an  assent 
to  her  view  of  the  case ;  and  as  I  did  not  respond, 
the  subject  was  dropped. 

After  dinner  I  took  a  walk,  and  as  I  could  not 
get  Granger  out  of  my  mind,  nor  rid  myself  of  a 
certain  feeling  of  responsibility  in  regard  to  him,  I 
concluded  to  extend  my  ramble  as  far  as  the  neigh 
borhood  in  which  he  lived  and  make  him  a  cull. 
My  ring  brought  his  wife  to  the  door. 

"  Is  Mr.  Granger  at  home  ?"  I  asked. 

I  saw  a  slight  shade  drop  across  her  face  as  she 
answered :  "  No ;  he  has  gone  to  take  a  walk  in  the 
Park."  Then,  after  a  moment,  "  Won't  you  come 
in,  Mr.  Lyon?" 

I  accepted  the  invitation.  As  I  took  a  seat  in  the 
plain  little  parlor,  and  looked  at  Mrs.  Granger,  I 


AS  BY  FIRE.  37 

was  painfully  impressed  with  the  changes  a  few 
years  had  wrought  in  her  appearance.  Such  lines 
of  suffering  as  had  been  cut  into  her  brow  and 
around  her  lips !  Such  wasting  and  exhaustion ! 
It  was  very  sad. 

"I  met  your  husband  a  few  days  ago,"  said  I, 
speaking  at  once,  so  that  there  might  be  no  embar 
rassing  pause,  "  and  was  glad  to  see  him  looking  so 
well." 

She  smiled  faintly ;  but  not  with  the  bright,  al 
most  radiant  smile  I  was  hoping  to  see. 

"  Yes ;  he  is  doing  very  well."  Her  voice  lacked 
heartiness,  I  fancied. 

"  And  is  going  to  stand  this  time,"  said  I,  speak 
ing  confidently. 

"  God  grant  it !"  A  reverent  earnestness  coming 
into  her  manner. 

"  He  has  found  a  new  element  of  strength." 

She  met  my  remark  with  a  look  of  inquiry,  keen 
and  searching. 

"A  true  faith  in  himself — in  his  manhood — in 
the  native  force  of  his  own  strong  will." 

"  There  is  no  sure  help  but  in  God,  Mr.  Lyon." 

I  seem  to  hear  now  her  slow  utterance  of  this 
sentiment,  and  the  strong  emphasis  given  to  the 
words,  "No  sure  help  but  in  God" 

"  God  is  in  every  manly  effort  to  do  right,"  I  an 
swered.  "  He  gives  strength  to  the  will  that  sets 
itself  against  evil  enticement.  We  trust  in  Him 
when  we  trust  in  the  power  He  gives  us." 


38 


£4  VLD 


"  What  my  husband  says ;  and  it  may  all  be  so 
in  some  way  that  I  do  not  clearly  understand." 

I  made  an  effort  to  explain  myself  more  clearly ; 
but,  when  I  was  done,  she  answered  with  simple 
earnestness :  "  It  is  better  to  look  to  God  than  to 
ourselves,  Mr.  Lyon.  I  am  sure  of  that.  Every 
hour,  every  moment,  even,  we  need  His  help  and 
care,  for  the  enemies  who  are  against  us  are  very 
malignant,  very  subtle,  and  very  strong.  I  should 
have  a  safer  feeling  about  my  husband  if  he  had  a 
little  less  confidence  in  the  strength  of  his  own  will, 
and  more  in  that  Divine  power  which  I  believe  can 
only  be  had  for  the  asking." 

"  As  if  God  would  stand  away,  coldly  indifferent, 
and  let  a  striving  soul  perish  because  there  was  no 
formal  asking.  Such  a  thought,  in  my  view,  dis 
honors  Him.  Would  a  father  wait  for  his  child  to 
call  for  help  if  he  saw  him  drowning  ?" 

"  No ;  and  I  do  not  think  that  God  ever  holds 
back  from  saving  in  the  sense  you  seem  to  mean, 
Mr.  Lyon.  If  a  father  were  reaching  after  his 
drowning  child,  and  calling  to  him,  '  Give  me  your 
hand,  my  eon !'  and  his  child  were  to  refuse  the  of 
fered  help,  and  trust  to  his  own  strength,  IIOAV  could 
the  father  save  him  ?" 

She  waited  for  my  reply,  looking  at  me  steadily. 
What  answer  could  I  make  ?  The  question  seemed 
to  open  a  window  in  my  soul  and  let  in  beams  of 
light;  but  they  were  not  yet  strong  enough  to  make 
her  full  meaning  clear. 


AS  BY  FIRE.  39 

"  Well,  what  more  ?"  I  queried. 

"  Our  Heavenly  Father  is  all  the  while  reaching 
out  to  save  His  perishing  children,  and  His  voice, 
tender  with  compassion,  and  earnest  with  love,  is 
forever  crying,  '  Son,  give  me  thy  heart !'  And  if 
the  heart  be  not  given,  how  can  the  soul  be  saved  ?" 

Mrs.  Granger's  further  question  almost  startled 
me.  It  gave  a  deeper  significance  to  "  being  saved  " 
than  I  had  yet  comprehended. 

She  went  on :  "They  that  dwell  in  God  dwell  in 
safety.  Of  that  we  may  be  sure.  Can  this  be  said, 
confidently,  of  any  others  ?  Ah !  sir,  where  so 
much  is  at  stake  it  will  not  do  to  risk  anything  in 
doubtful  trusts.  A  man's  will  may  be  very  strong ; 
but  if  the  Spirit  of  God  be  within  him,  he  will  be 
far  stronger — nay,  invincible  in  the  face  of  legions 
of  enemies.  God  is  as  a  walled  city  about  his  peo 
ple,  and  as  a  rock  of  defence.  He  is  a  sure  refuge 
in  the  day  of  trouble." 

Her  face  had  kindled,  and  there  was  something 
in  the  earnestness  of  her  manner,  and  in  the  assured 
tones  with  which  she  spoke,  that  seemed  to  bear  me 
away  and  set  me  adrift.  I  had  nothing  to  say  in 
opposition.  What  could  I  say  ?  There  was  truth 
in  every  word  she  had  uttered ;  and  if  I  had  ques 
tioned  or  cavilled  in  anything,  it  would  only  have 
been  as  to  the  exaet  meaning  and  practical  application 
of  the  truths  she  had  spoken.  And  after  all,  might 
she  not  have  a  clearer  insight  than  myself  into  the 
mystery  of  God's  ways  with  man  ? 


40 


SA  VED 


"Yoa  must  try  to  get  Mr.  Granger  to  go  to 
church  with  you.  It  will  be  best  for  him,  I  am 
sure,"  said  I,  speaking  with  a  stronger  conviction  of 
the  truth  of  what  I  said  than  I  was  willing  to  admit 
even  to  myself. 

"If  you  would  only  urge  him  to  go,  Mr.  Lyon. 
He  has  great  confidence  in  your  judgment,  and  will 
be  influenced  by  what  you  say.  You  have  helped 
him  greatly  ;  helped  not  only  to  lift  him  to  his  feet 
again,  but  to  set  them  going  in  the  right  way.  Only, 
Mr.  Lyon — and  you  will  excuse  me  for  saying  it — 
you  are  leading  him,  I  greatly  fear,  into  a  state  of 
false  security.  We  may  differ  about  this.  But,  sir, 
the  safest  way  is  the  best  way ;  and  I  am  sure  that 
he  who  goes  to  God  under  a  sense  of  weakness,  and 
prays  for  strength,  will  be  stronger  in  the  hour  of 
temptation,  and  safer  under  the  assaults  of  his 
enemies,  than  he  who  relies  solely  upon  himself." 

"Not  solely  upon  himself,"  I  returned.  "I  did 
not  mean  that  he  should  so  understand  me.  We 
have  no  life  that  is  absolutely  our  own ;  and  no 
strength  that  is  absolutely  our  own;  all  are  from 
God.  Still,  the  life  and  strength  that  God  is  per 
petually  giving  we  must  take  and  use  as  if  it  were 
our  own.  I  meant  no  more  and  no  less.  God  gives- 
the  strength  to  fight ;  but  we  must  overcome.  He 
does  not  work  for  us,  nor  fight  for  us,  nor  save  us ; 
for  doing  so  would  be  to  destroy  what  makes  our 
very  life.  We  must  do  all  this  for  ourselves ;  using 
the  power  He  is  forever  giving  to  all  who  will  use  it." 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  41 

"And  especially  to  all  who  call  upon  Him  in 
truth,"  said  Mrs.  Granger.  "  It  may  be  very  clear 
to  you,  sir,"  she  added,  "  how  one  may  stand  fast  in 
the  strength  God  is  always  giving.  But,  if  I  read 
my  Bible  aright  there  is  a  sphere  of  safety  higher 
and  surer  than  this — a  more  absolute  getting,  as  it 
were,  into  the  everlasting  arms ;  and  I  shall  never 
feel  at  ease  in  regard  to  my  husband  until  I  feel 
sure  that  these  everlasting  arms  are  round  about 
him." 

I  left  the  house  more  thoughtful  and  serious  than 
when  I  went  in,  and  took  my  way  to  the  Park, 
hoping  that  I  might  meet  Mr.  Granger ;  for,  some 
how,  his  wife's  sense  of  insecurity  in  regard  to  him 
had  left  a  like  impression  on  my  own  mind.  The 
afternoon  was  clear  and  bright,  and  many  thousands 
of  people  were  in  the  Park,  walking,  driving  and 
recruiting  themselves  in  many  ways ;  some,  I  regret 
to  say,  making  too  free  use  of  the  restaurants  at 
which,  in  defiance  of  Sunday  laws,  but  under  license 
from  the  Park  Commissioners,  some  of  them  church- 
going  men,  all  kinds  of  intoxicating  drinks  were 
dispensed  to  the  people. 

I  was  sitting  on  the  lawn  near  the  largest  of  these 
restaurants,  from  which  could  be  seen  the  beautiful 
river,  placid  as  a  lake,  and  the  city  with  its  spires 
and  domes  in  the  distance,  when  I  saw  Granger  in 
company  with  two  men,  one  of  whom  I  recognized 
as  a  lawyer  of  some  standing  at  the  bar,  and  the 
other  as  a  respectable  merchant.  They  were  cross- 


42  SAVED 

ing  the  lawn  at  the  distance  of  twenty  or  thirty 
yards  from  where  I  was  sitting,  and  going  in  the 
direction  of  one  of  the  small  refreshment  tables  that 
stood  in  front  of  the  restaurant.  On  reaching  this 
table,  they  all  sat  down  and  one  of  them  beckoned  to 
a  waiter,  who,  on  receiving  his  order,  went  away. 
In  a  little  while  he  returned  with  two  glasses  of 
some  kind  of  mixed  liquor  and  a  bottle  of  soda  wa 
ter.  My  relief  was  great  when  I  saw  this,  for  I 
naturally  inferred  that  the  soda  water  was  for  Gran 
ger  ;  and  in  this  I  was  right  When  they  had 
finished  their  glasses,  one  of  them  took  from  his 
pocket  a  segar-case,  and  after  each  had  lighted  a 
segar  and  smoked  for  a  little  while,  they  got  up  and 
went  leisurely  strolling  down  one  of  the  avenues, 
taking  a  homeward  direction. 

Two  or  three  times  I  had  been  on  the  point  of 
joining  them,  but  the  fear  lest  it  should  prove  to 
Granger  an  embarrassing  intrusion,  restrained  me 
from  doing  so.  I  was  troubled  at  the  occurrence. 
This  was  going  into  danger ;  taking  unguarded  rest 
on  the  enemy's  ground ;  inviting  temptation.  It 
was  scarcely  possible,  I  saw,  for  Granger  to  sit 
drinking  with  his  friends,  though  he  took  only  soda 
water  himself,  without  the  odor  of  their  glasses  drift 
ing  to  his  nostrils  with  its  enticing  allurement  for 
his  denied  appetite.  Nor  could  he  do  so,  without  a 
mental  contrast  of  their  freedom  with  his  restraint. 
In  any  view  of  the  incident  that  I  could  take,  it 
gave  me  only  regret  and  concern ;  and  I  felt  grieved 


AS  BY  FIRE.  43 

almost  to  anger  with  the  two  friends  who,  knowing 
as  they  did  the  man's  weakness,  and  the  great  deep 
out  of  which  he  had  just  struggled,  should  so  set 
temptation  in  his  way  as  to  make  his  fall  again  not 
possible,  but  imminent. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ALL  GONE. 

£DID  not  feel  easy  in  my  mind  until  I  had  called 
at  Granger's  office  on  the  next  day.  I  found 
him  all  right  and  husy  at  work.  His  eyes  bright 
ened  as  he  saw  me,  and  he  said,  with  genuine  heart 
iness,  as  he  grasped  my  hand  :  "  I  was  so  sorry  you 
called  yesterday  without  finding  me  at  home.  Helen 
told  me  of  your  visit.  I  had  gone  out  for  a  stroll 
in  the  Park." 

While  I  was  hesitating  whether  or  not  to  say  that 
I  had  seen  him  there,  he  added,  with  a  shade 
of  pride  and  self-confidence  in  his  voice :  "  I  had 
an  opportunity  to  test  the  native  strength  that  lies 
with  every  man,  yesterday,  and  to  prove  the  power 
of  a  resolute  '  I  will  not/  ' 

"Ah?  What  were  the  circumstances ?"  I  wished 
to  get  his  own  story,  and  so  gave  no  intimation  of 
what  I  had  seen. 

He  replied:  "I  met  two  friends  while  walking 
near  Belmont,  and  they  invited  me  to  join  them  in 
a  drink.  My  first  thought  was  to  say  No ;  but  not 
wishing  to  be  disagreeable,  I  said,  'All  right/,  and 
we  went  over  to  Proskauer's.  I  had  just  a  little 
fight  with  myself  as  we  walked  along ;  but  it  was 
soon  over,  and  will  stood  firmly  on  guard.  '  What 


"  Soda-water  for  me."— Page  U1. 


AS  BY  FIRE.  47 

will  you  take  ?'  asked  one  of  them,  as  we  sat  down 
in  front  of  the  restaurant.  'Claret  punch,'  said  the 
other.  '  And  you  ?'  looking  at  me.  Will  was  all 
right  and  on  guard,  as  I  have  said,  and  '  Soda  water 
for  me,'  came  without  a  shade  of  hesitation  in  my 
voice.  I  never  felt  in  greater  freedom  nor  more  at 
ease  and  assured.  Thank  you  from  my  heart,  friend 
Lyon ;  you  have  helped  me  to  get  the  full  mastery 
of  myself." 

"  If  a  man  only  will  to  overcome  in  the  day  of 
temptation,  his  victory  is  sure,"  said  I,  with  renewed 
confidence ;  for,  was  not  the  proof  of  this  before 
me ?  "I  am  glad  for  your  victory,"  I  continued. 
"  It  not  only  gives  you  increased  assurance  of  safety, 
but  makes  clear  to  your  mind  wherein  this  safety 
lies.  It  is  within  ourselves  that  we  must  look  for 
help  and  strength.  God  is  always  giving  us  the 
power  to  live  right  and  to  dwell  beyond  the  reach  of 
our  enemies ;  but  He  does  not  use  that  power  for 
us.  This  we  must  do  for  ourselves." 

"All  as  clear  to  me  as  the  sun  at  noonday," 
Granger  replied.  "  And  how  strong  I  feel  in  this 
consciousness  that  if  /  will  not,  all  hell,  as  you  have 
said,  cannot  move  me.  To  stand  self-centered  is  to 
stand  sure." 

But  for  all  his  confidence  and  my  own,  I  did  not 
feel  that  Granger  was  wholly  safe.  If  there  had 
been  no  such  thing  as  infirmity  of  the  will,  no  sud 
den  assaults  of  the  enemy  in  unguarded  moments, 
no  alluring  enticements  of  the  flesh,  nor  subtle 


48  SA VED 

reasonings  of  the  sensual  principle,  which  is  so 
ready  to  say  when  forbidden  fruit  is  at  the  lip,  "Ye 
shall  not  surely  die,"  I  might  not  have  doubted. 
But  I  could  not  rule  these  considerations  out  of  the 
question.  They  were  ever  existing  sources  of  dan 
ger  and  causes  of  anxiety ;  and  I  knew  but  too  well 
that  the  history  of  moral  defection  was  the  history 
of  their  dominion  over  the  will  of  man. 

"  But,  after  all,"  I  could  not  help  saying,  "  is  it 
not  safest  for  us  to  keep  as  much  as  possible  out  of 
the  way  of  temptation  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  in  a  tone  that  was  almost 
indifferent.  "  Safest,  of  course,  to  be  in  a  sheltered 
embrasure  than  out  on  the  battle-field.  But  the 
skill  to  fight,  and  the  power  to  resist  assault,  cannot 
be  gained  while  one  lies  beyond  the  reach  of  danger. 
We  must  be  brave  and  strong,  and  ever  ready  for 
the  fight ;  not  so  much  seeking  to  avoid  conflict,  as 
to  be  armed  and  ready,  and  quick  to  strike  when 
the  foe  appears.  Does  any  man  know  his  strength 
until  it  is  tried?  Is  any  man  really  strong  until  he 
has  met  temptation  and  come  out  victorious  ?" 

There  are  truths  which  become  changed  into  fal 
lacies  because  not  considered  in  relation  to  other 
truths ;  or  because  of  their  too  limited  or  too  general 
application.  In  the  case  of  Granger,  while  I  could 
not  deny  the  abstract  truth  of  what  he  had  been 
saying,  I  felt  that  he  stood  in  great  danger  of  letting 
it  be  to  him  little  more  than  a  betraying  fallacy. 
.  I  saw  him  frequently  after  this,  and  observed  him 


AS  BY  FIRE.  49 

closely.  How  fast  the  old  strength,  the  old  working 
force  and  the  old  ambition  were  returning.  And 
with  all,  how  strong  he  seemed  to  be  in  the  new 
power  which  he  had  gained. 

"My  'will  not'  is  my  sword  and  shield,"  he  said 
to  me,  many  weeks  after  his  new  life  began.  "  If 
my  enemy  assault  me  from  a  distance,  I  catch  his 
arrows  upon  this  shield ;  if  he  fall  upon  me  sud 
denly,  I  defeat  him  with  this  sword." 

Time  passed,  and  still  Granger's  feet  were  stand 
ing  on  solid  ground.  Business  came  flowing  in,  and 
men  who  had  important  cases  were  again  employing 
him  as  counsel.  He  did  not  keep  out  of  the  way  of 
temptation  as  much  as  I  thought  prudent ;  but  his  "  I 
will  not"  held  him  above  the  force  of  all  allurement. 

At  home,  the  new  aspect  of  things  was  like  the 
coming  of  spring  after  a  long  and  desolate  winter. 
The  poor,  little,  ill-attired  house  was  changed  for 
one  larger  and  more  comfortable,  and  furnished  in 
a  style  more  befitting  the  tastes  and  habits  of  his 
wife  and  children.  Old  social  relations  were  in 
many  cases  restored,  and  Mrs.  Granger  was  seen 
now  and  then  in  public  places  with  her  husband. 
Heart-ache,  deprivation,  toil  and  humiliation  had 
made  sorrowful  changes  in  her  face,  arid  shadowed 
her  beautiful  eyes ;  but  slowly  the  new  spring-time 
which  opened  upon  her  life  wrought  its  sweet 
changes,  until  you  began  to  lose  sight  of  the  winter's 
ravages,  and  to  find  in  their  stead  the  pleasant  signs 
of  a  fast-coming  and  bountiful  summer. 
4 


50 


SAVED 


For  a  whole  year  Granger  held  his  ground,  walk 
ing  safely  amid  temptations  that  assailed  him  on  the 
right  hand  and  on  the  left.  His  profession  brought 
him  into  familiar  association  with  men  who  not  only 
used  wine  freely  themselves,  but  made  its  offer  to 
their  friends  a  social  courtesy.  Still,  his  steady 
refusal  to  touch  or  taste  was  maintained.  "  I  will 
not"  continued  to  be  his  tower  of  strength. 

"  I  am  prouder  of  this  self-mastery,"  he  said  to 
me  one  day,  "  than  of  any  achievement  in  my  life. 
In  the  strength  of  this  asserted  manhood,  I  stand  as 
a  rock,  unmoved,  though  the  billows  dash  madly 
againnt  me." 

"  lie  that  ruleth  his  own  spirit  is  better  than  lie 
that  taketh  a  city,"  I  replied.  "  The  greatest  of  all 
heroes  is  the  man  who  conquers  himself." 

"Say,  rather,  he  who,  single-handed,  meets  the 
infernal  crew  who  would  drag  him  down  to  death 
and  hell,  and  beats  them  back,"  he  replied. 

There  was  a  proud  flash  in  his  eyes  as  he  lifted 
himself  to  a  statelier  bearing. 

"  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Granger  recently  ?"  asked 
my  wife,  not  many  weeks  afterwards.     It  was  on 
Sunday,  and  we  were  sitting  at  the  dinner-table. 
1     "No;  why  do  you  ask?"     Something  in   Mrs. 
Lyon's  voice  gave  me  a  feeling  of  uneasiness. 

"  I  saw  Mrs.  Granger  at  church  this  morning, 
and  she  looked  as  if  she  had  just  come  out  of  a  spell 
of  sickness." 

"  Was  she  at  church  last  Sunday?" 


AS  BY  FIRE.  5J 

"Yes." 

"  Did  you  observe  anything  unusual  in  her  ap 
pearance  then  ?" 

"No." 

"  Was  her  daughter  with  her  to-day  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  she  looked  almost  as  wretched  as  her 
mother.  There's  something  wrong,  I'm  afraid.  Oh, 
if  Mr.  Granger  should  have  taken  to  drinking  again, 
would  it  not  be  dreadful  ?" 

My  knife  and  fork  dropped  from  my  hands,  and 
I  half  rose  from  the  table,  so  pained  and  startled 
was  I  by  this  suggestion. 

"  Oh,  no,  nor  that  cannot  be !"  I  replied,  as  I  made 
an  effort  to  compose  myself.  "  Mr.  Granger  is  too 
strong,  and  too  well  established  in  his  reformation." 

"From  what  I  have  heard  you  say,"  returned  my 
wife,  "I  have  been  inclined  to  think  him  too  self- 
confident.  The  boastful  are  not  always  the  farthest 
removed  from  peril;  and  Granger  has  shown  a 
weakness  in  this  direction.  His  '  I  will  not,'  in 
which  you  and  he  have  put  so  great  faith,  may  have 
proven  his  stone  of  stumbling." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  I  demanded,  in  a  voice 
meant  to  be  assured,  but  into  which  came  a  betrayal 
of  weakness  and  fear. 

"A  man,"  replied  my  wife,  "who  has  such  a 
fast  faith  in  his  '  I  will  not,'  as  Granger  possesses, 
may  fall  through  over-confidence  in  the  power  of 
self-mastery." 

"How?" 


52  SA  VED 

t 

"He  may  trust  it  too  for." 

"I  do  not  get  your  meaning.     AVhat  is  it?" 

"  Your  friend  is  offered  a  glass  of  wine.  The 
sight  and  the  odor  kindle  into  a  sudden  flame  the 
old  desire.  He  is  conscious  of  strength,  and  with 
an  emphatic  mental  '  I  will  not !'  turns  from  the 
tempting  glass.  But,  suppose,  in  his  conscious,  self- 
centered  strength,  as  you  call  it,  he  should  say,  '  I 
will  not  taste  but  a  single  glass,'  what  then  ?  Is  he 
not  as  sure  of  himself  after  a  single  glass  as  he  was 
before?  Can  he  not  say,  *  So  far  and  no  farther?' ' 

"  You  know  that  he  cannot,"  I  replied,  almost 
<sha~ply,  for  her  suggestion  had  struck  me  like  a 
blow.  "  That  single  glass  would  not  only  break  the 
strength  of  his  will  but  give  to  appetite  a  new  and 
stronger  power." 

**  But,  suppose,  in  his  self-confidence,  he  did  not 
believe  this?  AVhen  we  are  well  and  strong  we 
make  light  of  over-strain,  and  the  unseen  but  subtle 
influences  of  miasma.  Don't  you  see  the  perpetual 
danger  in  which  he  would  stand  ?" 

T  did  see  it  as  I  had  not  seen  it  before,  though 
many  times  fears  and  misgivings  had  troubled  me, 

*  But  about  Mrs.  Granger  and  her  daughter  ?"  I 
ask3d.  "  How  did  they  look  ?" 

1 1  only  saw  them  for  a  moment  or  two  in  the 
vestibule  of  the  church.  At  the  first  glance  I 
scarcely  recognized  Mrs.  Granger.  There  did  not 
seem  to  be  a  particle  of  color  in  her  face,  which  was 
pinched,  as  we  see  it  in  those  who  are  suffering  acute 


AS  BY  FIRE.  53 

pain.  She  did  not  look  up  at  any  one,  and  had  the 
manner  of  a  person  who  wished  to  shrink  away 
without  attracting  observation.  Depend  upon  it, 
there  is  something  wrong  with  her  husband." 

"Something  wrong  with  her  husband!"  It  had 
the  sound  of  a  knell  in  my  ears. 

After  dinner,  I  called  at  Granger's  residence  and 
asked  for  him,  but  was  informed  by  the  servant  that 
he  was  not  at  home.  I  then  inquired  for  Mrs. 
Granger,  who  sent  word  that  she  was  not  feeling 
well,  and  asked  to  be  excused.  The  servant's  man 
ner  was  repressed  and  mysterious.  I  went  away 
with  a  heavy  weight  pressing  on  my  heart,  and 
taking  a  car  rode  out  to  the  Park,  thinking  it  pos 
sible  tliat  I  might  find  Granger  there.  I  spent  the 
whole  afternoon  in  the  neighborhood  of  Belmont, 
but  saw  nothing  of,  him.  In  the  evening,  I  called 
at  his  house  again,  but  was  told,  as  before,  that  he 
was  not  at  home.  There  was  a  look  in  the  servant's 
face,  as  she  made  this  answer,  which  led  me  to 
doubt  its  truth. 

I  made  it  my  business  to  go  to  the  lawyer's  office 
as  early  as  ten  o'clock  on  the  following  day.  He 
had  not  yet  made  his  appearance.  I  returned  at 
twelve ;  but  he  was  still  absent  Then  I  visited  the 
court-rooms  and  inquired  for  him  there ;  but  no  one 
remembered  to  have  seen  him  within  the  last  two  or 
three  days.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  I  again  visited 
his  office,  but  the  door  was  still  locked. 

On  the  next  day,  and  on  the  next,  my  efibrts  to 


54  SA  VED 

find  Granger  were  no  more  successful.  He  still  re 
mained  away  from  his  office.  A  week  passed  with 
out  my  seeing  him.  I  had  again  and  again  called 
at  his  residence,  only  to  be  informed  that  he  was 
not  at  home. 

Sitting  in  my  office  late  one  afternoon,  I  heard 
the  door  open,  and  turning,  saw  this  man  for  whom 
so  great  a  concern  was  lying  on  my  heart.  Was  it 
all  a  dream,  then,  this  year  of  reform  and  restora 
tion  ? — a  bright,  but  cheating  dream  ?  As  I  had 
seen  him,  debased,  nerveless,  wretched,  a  year  ago, 
so  I  saw  him  now.  Eyes  blood-shotten, — dress 
soiled  and  disordered, — face  shorn  of  all  manliness, 
and  marked  in  every  lineament  with  debauchery 
and  excess  I 

'*  Oh,  Granger !  Granger !"  I  cried  out,  the  sorrow 
and  pain  which  I  felt  going  into  my  voice.  "  And 
has  it  come  to  this?  All  your  strength  gone — all 
your  manhood  trodden  into  the  mire?" 

"  All  gone,"  he  answered,  in  a  moody,  dogged 
kind  of  way,  as  he  shut  the  door  and  came  a  step 
or  two  forward.  I  saw  that  he  was  considerably 
under  the  influence  of  drink. 

"  I  had  hoped  better  things  of  you  than  this,  Mr. 
Granger,"  said  I,  with  a  measure  of  rebuke  in  my 
voice. 

"  And  I  had  hoped  better  things  of  myself,"  he 
replied,  as  he  sat  down,  or  rather,  dropped  heavily 
into  a  chair.  "But  I  rather  guess  we  reasoned 
without  our  host,  friend  Lyon, — built  on  a  sandy 


AS  BY  FIRE.  55 

foundation ;  and  when  the  winds  blew,  and  the  rain 
fell,  and  the  floods  came,  down  went  the  house,  and 
the  fall  thereof  was  great.  Ha !  Isn't  it  so  ?  Don't 
you  remember  that  talk  we  had  with  Mr.  Stannard 
— about  the  new  leaf  I  had  turned,  and  the  writing 
that  was  to  go  thereon.  You  and  he  differed  about 
it,  I  remember ;  and  I  took  your  view  of  the  case. 
But,  d'  you  know,  I've  always  had  a  notion  that  he 
was  nearest  right." 

"  Then,  in  Heaven's  name,  try  his  way !"  I  ex 
claimed.  "  Anything  to  save  you  from  this  dread 
ful  sin  and  debasement." 

"  That  is,  go  and  join  the  church."  He  gave  a 
short,  ironical  laugh.  "'Nice  subject  for  the  church!" 
And  he  looked  down  at  himself.  "  But,  see  here, 
Lyon,"  his  manner  changing,  "  I'm  all  cleaned  out. 
Look !"  and  he  held  his  pocket-book  open.  "  All 
gone,  you  perceive.  Had  more  than  a  hundred 
dollars  when — when — I  got  on  this  confounded 
spree !  Lend  me  a  twenty.  I  want  to  buy  a  clean 
shirt,  and  get  a  bath,  and  fix  myself  up  before  going 
home." 

"Will  you  fix  yourself  up  and  go  home?"  I 
asked. 

"  Of  course  I  will.  But  I  can't  meet  Helen  and 
the  children  looking  like  this.  I'd  rather  go  and 
jump  into  the  river." 

I  hesitated,  not  feeling  sure  of  him.  He  was 
under  the  influence  of  drink ;  and  the  word  of  a 
man  in  this  condition  can  rarely,  if  ever,  be  trusted. 


56  SAVED 

"  Honor  bright,  Mr.  Lyon.  I'm  not  going  to  de 
ceive  you.  I've  set  iny  foot  down,  and  don't  mean 
to  drink  another  drop." 

"  Here  are  ten  dollars,"  I  said,  taking  a  bank-bill 
from  my  pocket-book  ;  '•'  but  before  I  give  it  to  you, 
I  must  have  your  word,  as  a  man  of  Ixmor,  that  you 
will  not  spend  a  dollar  of  this  money  for  liquor." 

"  My  word  and  my  honor,  Mr.  Lyon,"  and  he 
placed  his  hand  over  his  heart. 

In  the  next  moment  he  was  reaching  out  eagerly 
for  the  bank-bill,  which  I  let  him  take,  though  not 
without  many  misgivings  as  to  his  proper  use  of  the 
money.  He  rose  immediately  and  made  a  move 
ment  to  leave  the  office. 

"Not  yet,  Mr.  Granger.  Sit  down  again.  I  wish 
to  have  a  little  more  talk  with  you." 

"  I'll  call  in  to-morrow,"  he  replied,  not  resuming 
his  seat,  and  showing  considerable  eagerness  to  get 
away.  "  Haven't  been  home  since  day  before  yes 
terday,  and  they're  getting  worried  about  me.  Good- 
afternoon  !" 

And  before  I  could  make  a  movement  to  intercept 
him,  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ALMOST  IN  DESPAIR. 

FOUND  Granger  at  his  office  on  the  next  day. 
J-  He  was  writing,  and  did  not  turn  to  see  who 
had  come  in  until  I  had  waited  for  some  moments. 
His  color  heightened  as  he  recognized  me.  There 
was  a  look  of  shame  in  his  face,  and  considerable 
embarrassment  in  his  manner. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  I. 

"  Good  morning/'  he  responded,  in  a  dull,  cold 
way.  There  was  not  the  slightest  invitation  to 
friendly  confidence.  I  felt  him  pushing  me  off 
almost  as  distinctly  as  if  his  action  had  been  phy 
sical  instead  of  mental. 

"Just  looked  in  to  see  how  you  were,"  I  re 
marked.  "  All  right,  I  hope  ?" 

He  turned  a  little  from  me,  not  making  any 
reply.  While  I  was  still  in  doubt  as  to  what  it 
were  best  for  me  to  do  or  say,  a  client  came  in  to 
consult  him  on  business,  which  gave  me  an  oppor 
tunity  to  retire  from  the  office.  I  was  glad  of  this, 
for  I  was  not  sure  as  to  Granger's  real  state  of 
mind ;  nor  half  so  confident  as  I  had  been  a  year 
before  that  I  could  give  the  wise  counsel  a  man  in  his 
condition  so  greatly  needed.  That  he  had  faithfully 
57 


58  SAVED 

tried  the  prescription  which  I  gave  him  then,  I 
knew ;  and  there  was  this  to  be  said  in  its  favor, 
by  its  help  he  had  stood  firm  for  a  whole  year — and 
was  not  that  a  great  deal  ?  True,  but  why  had  he 
gained  nothing  in  moral  and  spiritual  power  during 
all  this  rule  of  the  will  over  his  sensual  nature? 
He  should  have  been  stronger,  more  self-centered, 
more  really  invincible  at  the  end  of  a  year  than  at 
the  beginning ;  and  yet,  the  will  off  guard,  in  some 
moment  of  assault,  and  he  was  again  in  the  hands 
of  his  enemy. 

One  conclusion  forced  itself  upon  me.  This  man's 
condition  was  worse  than  before  he  made  his  reso 
lute  and,  for  a  time,  successful  effort  to  reform.  The 
will-power,  in  which  he  had  trusted  so  confidently, 
had  failed  in  strength  and  vigilance,  and  left  him  a 
prey  to  inrushing  appetite.  Evon  if  faith  in  him 
self  were  not  destroyed,  it  must  ta  a  weaker  faith 
and  less  able  to  contend  with  appetite,  which, 
through  another  victory,  had  gained  a  new  force. 

All  this,  as  I  dwelt  on  the  subject,  grew  clearer 
and  clearer  to  my  mind.  I  could  see  how  a  reso 
lute  will  might  hold  a  man  above  consent  in  any 
and  every  temptation  by  which  he  might  be  assailed; 
and  I  could  also  see  how,  if  the  will  betrayed  the 
man,  and  he  fell,  he  would  be  weaker  for  the  fall, 
and  more  easily  overcome  in  a  new  temptation. 
What  then  ?  What  hope  for  him  ?  There  would 
be  an  inflowing  of  strength  from  God  with  every 
subsequent  effort  the  man  might  make  to  get  free 


AS  BY  FIRE.  f  59 

from  the  dominion  of  evil ;  but  would  not  the  re 
ception  of  this  strength  and  the  ability  to  use  it,  be 
in  a  steadily  diminishing  ratio ;  and  would  not  the 
power  of  appetite  increase  with  every  indulgence  ? 

My  faith  in  man's  will  had  received  a  shock. 
There  was  an  element  of  weakness  somewhere. 
Why  should  God  fail  to  give  the  requisite  strength 
when  the  effort  was  sincere  ?  Did  he  indeed  govern, 
as  many  taught,  by  mere  arbitrary  laws ;  affording 
help  to  the  weak  and  perishing  only  in  the  degree 
of  their  compliance  with  certain  legal  conditions? 
Or,  were  the  conditions  not  arbitrary  but  essential  aad 
in  the  very  nature  of  things  ?  If  God  be  good  and 
wise — loving  and  compassionate — ever  seeking  to 
save  to  the  very  uttermost,  must  not  this  be  so? 
God  is  love — love.  Heart  and  soul  held  to  this. 
But,  how  was  the  sustaining  strength  of  this  love  to 
make  itself  a  living  force  in  man  ?  How?  I  could 
not  see  it  clearly.  Once  it  had  been  very  clear; 
but  my  thoughts  were  in  confusion  now. 

I  had  reached  the  door  of  my  own  office,  and  was 
about  entering,  when  a  sudden  movement  in  the 
street  attracted  my  attention.  People  were  running 
together,  in  an  excited  manner. 

"  Only  a  drunken  row,"  said  a  man  who  was 
standing  near  me. 

"  That  all."     And  I  passed  into  my  office. 

Only  a  drunken  row !  I  had  dismissed  the  inci 
dent  as  of  little  account  when  I  was  startled  by  the 
sound  of  tramping  feet  and  dissonant  voices  at  my 


60  & 

very  door ;  and  in  a  moment  after,  three  men  en 
tered  bearing  the  body  of  a  man,  deathly  pale,  and 
with  the  blood  streaming  from  a  wound  in  his  head. 
I  recognized  him  as  a  well-known  and  prominent 
citizen. 

A  doctor  was  sent  for,  and  after  the  wound  was 
dressed,  the  gentleman  was  removed  to  his  own 
home. 

Only  a  drunken  row!  An  effort  was  made  to 
keep  the  affair  out  of  the  newspapers,  but  not  with 
entire  success.  In  one  afternoon  sheet  this  account 
appeared : 

"ASSAULT  ON  A  PROMINENT  CITIZEN. — A  das 
tardly  assault  was  made  this  morning  on  our  es 
teemed  fellow  citizen,  Harvey  Leonard,  Esq.,  by  a 
ruffianly  fellow  named  Groot.  It  occurred  just  in 
front  of  Egbert's  saloon.  Mr.  Leonard  had  just  left 
the  saloon,  when  Groot  dealt  him  a  severe  blow 
from  behind,  knocking  him  down.  In  fulling,  his 
head  struck  the  curbstone,  and  he  received  an  up;lv 

C?    v 

wound  above  the  temple.  Mr.  Leonard  was  carried 
into  Frederick  Lyon's  office,  where  the  wound  was 
dressed  by  Dr.  Gerhard.  He  was  then  taken  to  his 
own  home.  We  learn  that  the  immediate  occasion 
of  this  assault  was  a  political  argument  into  which 
Mr.  Leonard  permitted  himself  to  be  drawn  by 
Groot,  and  in  which  both  of  them — they  had  been 
drinking  rather  freely,  we  are  sorry  to  say — got 
angry  and  called  hard  names.  Mr.  Leonard  had 
the  best  of  the  argument,  and  Groot  revenged  him- 


AS  BY  FIRE.  (51 

self,  after  the  ruffianly  fashion,  by  knocking  him 
down.  He  may  thank  his  stars  if  he  doesn't  have 
to  stand  a  trial  for  manslaughter ;  for  no  one  can 
tell  what  may  be  the  result  of  a  severe  concussion 
of  the  brain.  When  removed  to  his  home,  we  under 
stand  that  Mr.  Leonard  was  in  a  half-cometose  state." 

I  had  just  read  this  account  of  the  affair,  and  was 
thinking  of  the  mortification  Mr.  Leonard's  family 
must  suffer  should  it  happen  to  meet  their  eyes — 
there  were  grown-up  sons  and  daughters — when,  to 
my  surprise,  Mr.  Granger  entered  my  office.  He 
smiled  faintly  as  he  came  in,  the  smile  dying  off 
slowly,  and  leaving  his  face  very  grave. 

"  I  want  to  have  another  talk  with  you,  Lyon," 
he  said.  u  This  is  a  shocking  affair  of  Leonard's, 
isn't  it  ?" 

"  Shocking  and  sad,"  I  replied. 

"  I  know  this  Groot.  He's  peaceable  enough 
when  sober,  but  a  devil  incarnate  when  drunk.  They 
say  that  Leonard  is  in  a  dangerous  condition." 

"  So  the  Telegraph  intimates." 

"  I  don't  know  wrhen  anything  has  given  me  such 
a  shock.  It  might  have  happened  to  me  as  well  as 
to  Leonard.  Why,  only  a  few  evenings  ago  I  had 
some  sharp  words  with  the  fellow.  I  can  remem 
ber  the  glitter  of  his  angry  eyes.  He  would  have 
struck  me  down  if  he  had  dared.  Liquor  makes 
fiends  of  some  men  who  are  as  quiet  and  peaceable 
as  lambs  when  sober.  I've  often  thought  of  that. 
Can  you  explain  it,  Mr.  Lyon  ?" 


62  SA  VED 

"  I  have  no  settled  theory  of  my  own  on  the  eul> 
ject ;  but  in  a  book  which  I  read  not  long  ago,  I  saw 
an  explanation  that  set  me  to  thinking." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  The  writer  had  been  speaking  of  the  terrible 
transformations  wrought  in  men  by  drink.  How 
the  once  tender  and  considerate  husband  became 
changed  often  into  a  cruel  fiend.  How  the  loving 
father  grew  indifferent  or  brutal  towards  his  children; 
the  good  citizen  a  social  pest;  and  the  esteemed 
neighbor  an  offence.  How  in  everything  the  order 
of  life  was  changed ;  the  goodly  tree  that  once  gave 
such  generous  fruit  becoming  as  a  thorn  or  bramble. 
He  then  said : 

"  *  We  marvel  at  these  awful  transformations,  won 
dering  how  inebriation  can  change  men  into  fiends ; 
how  alcohol,  a  mere  substance  in  nature,  and  with 
out  moral  force,  can,  through  its  action  on  the  brain, 
evolve  a  new  moral  quality — intense,  destructive 
and  infernal.  The  fact  no  one  questions,  for  it 
stands  all  the  while  confronting  and  challenging  us 
in  a  thousand  terrible  and  disgusting  forms ;  and 
yet,  for  all  this,  men  dally  with  the  subtle  agent  of 
hell,  giving  it  a  lodgment  in  body  and  brain,  and 
suffering  it  to  gain  a  large  and  still  larger  action 
among  the  vital  forces,  which  it  never  touches  but 
to  work  disorder.  They  see  how  it  hurts  their 
neighbors;  but,  strangely  enough,  do  not  fear  for 
themselves. 

" '  There  is  a  truth  about  this  matter  which  few 


AS  BY  FIRE.  gg 

consider — a  truth  that,  if  well  understood,  would 
hold  thousands  upon  thousands  away  from,  that  so- 

I  called  moderate  indulgence  in  alcohol  which  so 
often  betrays  to  utter  ruin.  We  speak  of  man  as 
having  rational  freedom.  The  seat  of  this  freedom 
and  rationality  is  the  brain,  the  physical  organism 
through  which  it  acts  and  influences  the  outer  life. 
If  the  bram  is  hurt  or  disturbed,  the  mind's  healthy 
action  is  at  once  lost ;  and  it  is  remarkable  that  an 
evil  force  seems  to  get  possession  of  the  will  as  soon 
as  the  rational  equipoise  is  lost. 

" '  Whatever  disturbs  a  man's  rational  equipoise, 
gives  evil  forces  a  power  over  him  which  could  not 
otherwise  be  obtained.  Clearly,  then,  to  disturb  the 
brain's  healthy  action  by  the  introduction  of  alco 
hol,  through  the  blood,  into  that  wonderfully  deli- 
"  cate  organ,  is  for  a  man  to  change  so  far  the  true 

O          '  *— J 

heavenly  order  of  his  life,  and  to  open  the  door  for 
;in  influx  of  disorder  and  evil.  The  change  may  at 
first  be  very  small,  and  the  disorderly  action  scarcely 
perceived ;  but  is  it  not  clear  to  the  dullest  mind 
lhat,  if  the  introduction  of  alcohol  into  the  brain  be 
continued  day  after  day,  and  with  gradual  increase, 
the  time  must  come  when  the  man's  rational  control 
of  himself  will  be  lost?  And  when  this  takes, 
place,  he  becomes  subject  to  infernal  influences.' " 

a  This  goes  deeper  than  I  had  thought,"  said 
Granger,  as  I  stopped  speaking,  "  and  involves  more 
than  I  can  now  understand  or  admit.  So  much  is 
true,  at  least,  that  when  the  brain  is  disturbed  by 


64  SA  VED 

drink,  a  man  comes  under  baleful  influences,  and  ia 
far  more  inclined  to  evil  than  to  good.  He  is  quick 
to  take  offence,  and  too  ofter  grows  passionate,  cruel 
and  pitiless,  hurting  even  his  best  beloved.  Ah, 
'what  a  cursed  slavery  it  is !" 
^  A  painful  agitation  disturbed  his  face. 

"  And  the  hardest  to  break  of  any  into  which  a 
poor  mortal  can  unhappily  fall,"  I  said. 

"  Is  there  any  hope,  Mr.  Lyon  ?"  An  anxious, 
half-terrified  look  had  come  into  his  eyes,  as  of  one 
who  had  felt  himself  borne  helplessly  away.  "  I 
am  almost  in  despair.  My  will,  in  which  I  thought 
myself  so  strong,  has  failed,  and  I  cannot  trust  it 
again.  It  is  weaker  for  my  fall,  and  must  grow 
weaker  and  weaker  every  recurring  fall.  Do  you 
know  anything  about  inebriate  asylums  ?" 

He  asked  the  question  abruptly,  and  with  the 
manner  of  one  who  had  forced  himself  to  do  some 
thing  from  which  he  had  been  holding  back  with  a 
strong  reluctance. 

"  There  are  the  Sanitarium  at  Media,  and  the  New 
York  State  Inebriate  Asylum  at  Binghampton,"  I 
answered. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  either  of  them  ?" 

I  did  not. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  any  one  being  cured  at  an 
Inebriate  Asylum  ?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"  Who  ?     Can  you  find  me  the  man  ?" 

"  No  case  has  come  under  my  personal  observa- 


AS  BY  FIRE.  (55 

tion ;  but  I  remember  reading  in  a  New  York 
paper  not  long  ago  a  very  strong  report  on  the  good 
work  which  had  been  done  at  the  State  Asylum." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  the  treatment  ?" 

"  Only  in  a  general  way.  The  patient  is  removed 
from  old  associations,  and  out  of  the  reach  of  temp 
tations  which  he  had  become  too  weak  to  resist; 
brought  under  the  influence  of  new  social,  moral 
and  intellectual  conditions ;  and  this  for  a  period  of 
time  long  enough  to  give  him  back  the  mastery  over 
himself  which  had  been  lost.  I  remember,  now, 
hearing  a  gentleman  who  had  visited  the  Sanitarium 
at  Media,  say,  that  Dr.  Parish  regarded  the  cultiva 
tion  of  the  finest  qualities  of  the  head  and  heart  in 
his  patients  as  the  true  basis  of  a  permanent  recov 
ery.  He  relied  on  that  self-culture  which  promotes 
gelf-respect,  a  sense  of  moral  obligation,  and  the  de 
velopment  of  a  true  manhood  ;  and  when  this  con 
sciousness  was  realized,  he  considered  the  founda 
tions  laid  for  permanent  safety." 

The  eager  expression  which  was  on  Granger's 
face  as  I  began  my  answer  to  his  question,  had  left 
it  by  the  time  I  ceased  speaking. 

"  All  a  delusion,"  he  replied.  "  If  they  can  offer 
a  man  no  other  help,  the  number  of  their  saved  will 
be  few." 

"  They  are  many,  I  have  been  told." 

He  shook  his  head  doubtfully  and  gloomily. 

"  New  associations,"  said  I,  "  the  cultivation  of 
new  tastes,  more  vigorous  thinking  in  the  right 


(36  SA  VED 

direction,  a  better  undarstanding  of  the  pathology  of 
drunkenness,  and  above  all,  the  formation  of  better 
habits,  must  help  a  man  and  give  him  a  new  advant 
age  in  the  struggle  with  appetite.  These  he  will 
gain  while  under  treatment  in  an  asylum." 

"  Have  I  not  had  nearly  all  of  these  for  a  year, 
standing  by  their  help  and  that  of  my  strong  will 
in  the  very  face  of  temptation  ?  And  yet  there 
came  an  hour  in  which  they  were  as  threads  of  flax 
in  a  candle  flame  !  You  don't  know  anything  about 
the  wild  rush  this  passion  of  drink  will  sometimes 
make  upon  a  man.  It  is  like  the  sweep  of  an  irre 
sistible  flood. 

"  Look  here !"  He  drew  from  his  vest  pocket  a 
slip  of  paper.  "  I  cut  this  out  of  a  newspaper  to 
day.  It  has  frightened  me.  God  only  knows  where 
I  am  drifting !  It  may  be  •  to  a  fate  as  dreadful. 
This  slip  of  paper  gives,  briefly,  a  few  facts  in  the 
life  of  a  man  who  once  stood  high  as  a  clergyman, 
and  afterwards  represented  his  State  in  Congress. 
But  drink  cursed  him  and  he  fell  to  the  lowest  level. 
Recovering  himself,  he  enlisted  in  the  temperance 
cause  and  became  not  only  one  of  its  warmest  cham 
pions,  but  rose  to  the  head  of  the  Order  of  Good 
Templars  in  the  State  of  Indiana.  But  he  died  ere 
he  had  reached  his  fortieth  year  and  from  conges 
tion  of  the  brain,  caused  by  a  relapse  into  intem 
perance  !" 

"  Sad  enough  !     Does  the  slip  give  his  name  ?" 

"  Let  me  read  it :  '  Schuyler  Colfax,  in  a  recent 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  C7 

letter  referring  to  the  death  of  J.  J.  Talbot,  of  In 
dianapolis,  says':  "  He  has  made  hundreds  of  elo 
quent  and  touching  appeals  for  temperance  all 
over  our  State  within  the  past  two  years,  but  told 
me  that  the  appetite  would  sometimes  become  so  in 
satiate  as  to  almost  defy  control,  though  he  prayed 
on  bended  knee  for  strength  to  resist  it.  I  remem 
ber  the  terrible  picture  of  his  own  experience  copied 
in  the  enclosed  article.  He  delivered  it  here,  to  a 
crowded  audience,  hundreds  of  whom,  like  myself, 
were  in  tears,  and  he  uttered  it  in  desponding  tones 
that  seemed  almost  like  the  wail  of  the  lost,  and  as 
if  he  felt  his  impending  doom  was  inevitable.' ' 

"  The  extract  referred  to  by  Mr.  Colfax,  is  as  fol 
lows  :  '  But  now  that  the  struggle  is  over,  I  can 
survey  the  field  and  measure  the  losses.  I  had  po 
sition  high  and  holy.  This  demon  tore  from  around 
me  the  robes  of  my  sacred  office,  and  sent  me  forth 
churchless  and  godless,  a  very  hissing  and  by -word 
among  men.  Afterward  I  had  business,  large  and 
lucrative,  and  my  voice  in  all  large  courts  was  heard 
pleading  for  justice,  mercy  and  the  right.  But  the 
dust  gathered  on  my  unopened  books,  and  no 
foot-fall  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  drunkard's 
office.  I  had  moneys  ample  for  all  necessities,  but 
they  took  wings  and  went  to  feed  the  coffers  of  the 
devils  which  possessed  me.  I  had  a  home  adorned 
with  all  that  wealth  and  the  most  exquisite  taste 
could  suggest.  This  devil  crossed  its  threshold  and 
the  light  faded  from  its  chambers ;  the  fire  went  out 


G8 

on  the  holiest  of  altars,  and,  leading  me  through  its 
portals,  despair  walked  forth  with  her,  and  sorrow 
and  anguish  lingered  within.  I  had  children,  beau 
tiful,  to  me  at  least,  as  a  dream  of  the  morning,  and 
they  had  so  entwined  themselves  around  their 
father's  heart  that,  no  matter  where  it  might  wander, 
ever  it  came  back  to  them  on  the  bright  wings  of  a 
father's  undying  love.  This  destroyer  took  their 
hands  in  his  and  led  them  away.  I  had  a  wife 
whose  charms  of  mind  and  person  were  such  that 
to  see  her  was  to  remember,  and  to  know  her  was  to 
love.  *  *  *  For  thirteen  years  we  walked  the 
rugged  path  of  life  together,  rejoicing  in  its  sun 
shine  and  sorrowing  in  its  shade.  This  infernal 
monster  couldn't  spare  me  even  this.  I  had  a 
mother  who  for  long,  long  years  had  not  left  her 
chair,  a  victim  of  suffering  and  disease,  and  her 
choicest  delight  was  in  the  reflection  that  the  lessons 
which  she  had  taught  at  her  knee  had  taken  root  in 
the  heart  of  her  youngest  born,  and  that  he  was 
useful  to  his  fellows  and  an  honor  to  her  who  bore 
him.  But  the  thunderbolt  reached  even  there,  and 
there  it  did  its  most  cruel  work.  Ah,  me !  never  a 
word  of  reproach  from  her  lips — only  a  tender 
caress;  only  a  shadow  of  a  great  and  unspoken 
grief  gathering  over  the  dear  old  face;  only  a 
trembling  hand  laid  more  lovingly  on  my  head ; 
only  a  closer  clinging  to  the  cross ;  only  a  more 
piteous  appeal  to  Heaven  if  her  cup  at  last  were  not 
full.  And  while  her  boy  raved  in  his  wild  delirium 


AS  BY  FIRE.  69 

two  thousand  miles  away,  the  pitying  angels  pushed 
the  gclden  gates  ajar,  and  the  mother  of  the  drunk 
ard  entered  into  rest. 

"  '  And  thus  I  stand :  a  clergyman  without  a  cure; 
a  barrister  without  brief  or  business ;  a  father  with 
out  a  child ;  a  husband  without  a  wife ;  a  son  without 
a  parent ;  a  man  with  scarcely  a  friend ;  a  soul 
without  a  hope — all  swallowed  up  in  the  maelstrom 
of  drink/  " 

Several  times,  as  he  read,  the  voice  of  Mr.  Gran 
ger  gave  way  and  he  had  to  pause  in  order  to  recover 
himself.  His  hand  shook  so  that  he  was  obliged  to 
lay  the  slip  of  paper  down  on  my  table  to  keep  it 
steady.  His  eyes  were  wet  and  his  face  strongly 
agitated. 

"  Such  a  devil  is  the  devil  of  drink !"  he  said, 
bitterly,  shutting  his  teeth  hard  and  clenching  his 
hands.  "  Cruel  as  hell ;  pitiless  as  the  grave !" 

"  And  knowing  that  he  is  so  cruel  and  so  pitiless, 
Mr.  Granger,  why  place  yourself  for  an  instant  in 
his  power  ?" 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  collar  and  drew  it  away 
from  his  throat,  as  if  he  were  choking. 

"  The  case  seems  well  nigh  hopeless."  There  was 
a  mournful  despondency  in  his  voice. 

"  Say  not  so.  That  of  Mr.  Talbot  is  largely  ex 
ceptional.  There  must  have  been  with  him  an 
inherited  appetite." 

I  was  looking  at  Mr.  Granger,  and  noticed  a 
change  pass  over  his  face,  which  had  become  sud- 


70  SA  VED 

denly  pale.  There  was  a  startled  expression  in  hia 
eyes. 

"  A  what  ?"  he  asked,  a  little  breathlessly. 

"  An  inherited  tendency." 

"  You  don't  imagine  there  is  anything  in  that, 
Mr.  Lyon?" 

"  Undoubtedly  there  is,"  not  at  the  moment  think 
ing  of  any  application  by  Mr.  Granger  of  my 
remark  to  his  own  case.  "  The  law  of  transmission 
is  well  established.  Children  not  only  inherit  the 
physical  likenesses  and  peculiarities  of  their  parents, 
but  their  mental  and  moral  qualities  also.  A  de 
praved  appetite  in  a  father  will,  if  indulged,  be 
surely  transmitted  to  his  child." 

"  What  hope  for  the  child,  then  ?" 

"  All  hope,  if  he  hold  the  appetite  as  a  wild  beast 
sleeping.  It  cannot  hurt  him  while  it  sleeps.  But 
let  him  beware  how  he  awakens  it  with  a  taste  of 
blood  on  its  tongue.  No  inherited  evil  can  hurt  us 
until  we  give  it  a  new  life  in  ourselves.  Until  then 
it  is  only  potential." 

No  light  came  back  into  Granger's  countenance. 
There  was  about  him  a  statue-like  stillness  and  a 
fixedness  of  look,  as  though  he  were  gazing  at  some 
thing  strange  and  almost  fearful. 

"  This  gives  the  case  a  new  aspect,  Mr.  Lyon." 
There  was  a  forced  quiet  in  his  voice  as  he  said  this, 
turning  to  me  as  he  spoke.  I  saw  another  change 
in  his  countenance,  which  now  bore  signs  of  con- 
Bcious  weakness.  He  gave  me  the  impression  of  one 


AS  BY  FIRE.  71 

who  had  folded  his  arms  in  the  face  of  danger,  all 
confidence  in  effort  gone.  "  A  man  may  repent  and 
be  saved  from  the  curse  of  his  own  transgressions, 
but  if  the  sin  of  his  father  be  laid  upon  him,  what 
hope  is  there  of  salvation  ?" 

The  truth  flashed  on  my  mind.  Here  was  a  case 
of  inherited  appetite;  and  the  victim's  first  sus 
picion  of  the  fact  had  destroyed  in  him,  for  the 
time  being,  all  remaining  faith  in  the  value  of  resis 
tance. 

"  The  case  is  only  the  harder,"  I  replied ;  "  but 
not  desperate.  There  must  be  a  more  vigilant  watch 
and  ward;  a  more  earnest  and  never-ceasing  conflict; 
a  daily  death-grapple  with  the  foe,  if  need  be.  And 
is  not  freedom  from  his  infernal  power  worth  all 
this?" 

"  Worth  it  ?  Aye !  Worth  all  a  man  may  do  or 
dare!" 

There  swept  into  his  face  the  flush  and  strength 
of  reviving  confidence. 

"  Did  the  criminality  of  this  thing  never  strike 
you  ?"  I  asked,  determined  to  try  the  force  of  a  new 
incentive. 

"  Criminality  ?"  He  gave  a  kind  of  start,  and  the 
warmer  color  which  had  come  into  his  face  died 
out. 

"  Nor  the  perpetual  danger  in  which  one  who  lets 
the  devil  of  drink  get  possession  of  his  brain  stands 
of  becoming  a  criminal  before  the  law  ?  The  deeds 
of  a  devil  are  very  apt  to  be  devilish." 


72  SA  VED 

He  set  his  eyes  on  me  with  a  fixed  stare,  waiting 
my  farther  speech. 

"  Your  profession  makes  you  familiar  with  the 
causes  of  crime,"  I  continued,  "  and  you  know  that 
over  seventy  per  cent,  of  the  crimes  and  vicious  acts 
which  the  law  punishes  by  fines,  imprisonments  o; 
death,  are  caused  by  inebriation." 

He  still  gazed  at  me  without  speaking. 

"  Groot  is  an  inoffensive  man  while  sober,  but  a 
brutal  fiend  when  drunk.  When  sober,  he  would 
not  have  injured  a  hair  of  Mr.  Leonard's  head — 
drunk,  he  made  a  cowardly  and  murderous  assault 
upon  him." 

Granger  drew  a  deep,  quivering  breath,  but  made 
no  reply.  I  went  on. 

"  No  man  who  takes  this  devil  into  his  brain,  so 
giving  him  the  control  of  will  and  action,  can  tell 
what  may  be  the  consequences.  When  he  gets  back 
into  himself  again,  there  may  be  blood  upon  his 
hand!  Whose  blood?  Is  the  insane  drunkard 
careful  in  his  discriminations?  Is  the  beloved 
wife,  or  sweet  young  daughter,  or  innocent  babe, 
in  no  danger?  What  say  the  records  of  our 
courts  ?" 

I  paused,  for  the  face  of  the  lawyer  had  become 
intensely  agitated,  and  there  were  beads  of  sweat  on 
his  forehead. 

"This  criminal  aspect  of  the  case,"  I  resumed, 
seeing  that  he  made  no  response,  "is  one  of  the 
most  serious  that  drinking  presents ;  and  is  not  the 


AS  BY  FIRE.  73 

man  who,  to  gratify  a  mere  appetite  which  he  knows, 
if  indulged,  will  destroy  his  moral  sense,  and  induce 
temporary  insanity,  as  guilty  of  the  crimes  he  may 
commit  while  intoxicated  as  if  he  had  committed 
them  sober  ?  A  good  citizen  will  see  to  it,  that  he 
does  not  wrong  his  neighbor ;  and  a  good  husband 
and  father  that  his  wife  and  children  have  care,  pro 
tection  and  love.  Is  he  a  good  citizen,  or  husband, 
or  father,  who  voluntarily  transforms  himself  into 
a  cruel  and  destructive  demon  ?  The  crime  and  re 
sponsibility  of  this  thing  cannot  be  escaped,  Mr. 
Granger,  and  I  press  upon  you,  in  all  solemnity, 
this  view  of  the  whole  sad  question.  If  you  go  away 
from  here,  and,  before  reaching  your  home,  suffer 
appetite  to  draw  you  back  again  into  the  vortex 
from  which  you  are  trying  to  escape,  and  on  the 
outer  edge  of  which  you  are  resting  now,  who 
can  tell  whether  to-morrow  may  not  find  you  at 
the  bar  of  justice,  with  crime  written  on  your  fore 
head!" 

Granger  started  to  his  feet  and  threw  up  his 
hands  with  a  bitter  cry,  then  clasped  them  tightly 
across  his  forehead.  He  stood  for  several  moments 
in  this  attitude,  his  manner  that  of  one  in  swift 
debate. 

"  No,  Mr.  Lyon,  not  that — not  that !"  he  said, 
huskily,  as  he  turned  to  me.  "  Not  a  criminal !" 

He  sat  down  again,  as  if  from  sudden  loss  of 
strength.  I  saw  that  he  was  trembling. 

"  I  trust  not,  Mr.  Granger.     But  there  is  no  more 


74  SA  VED 

immunity  for  you  than  for  another.  These  drink- 
devils  are  no  respecters  of  persons.  If  you  let  them 
in  you  become  their  slave,  and  no  one  can  tell  how 
soon,  nor  how  deeply,  they  may  lead  you  into  crime 
and  disgrace." 

He  gave  an  involuntary  shudder.  After  this,  we 
talked  more  calmly.  The  idea  of  criminality  be 
came  a  central  one  in  his  mind.  It  had  never  before 
occurred  to  him.  He  was  a  man  of  sensitive  honor ; 
and  this  thought  of  crime  against  society,  and 
against  his  family,  wrought  with  him  strongly.  Not 
alone  the  crime  of  violence,  as  at  first  presented,  but 
the  crime  of  robbery  towards  those  who  had  a  claim 
on  him  for  services  and  protection.  I  was  careful 
to  go  over  the  ground  with  him  as  widely  as  possible; 
and  especially  to  dwell  on  the  great  crime  against 
wife  and  children  which  a  man  commits  who  robs 
them  through  the  waste  and  self-wrought  incapacity 
of  drunkenness. 

Granger  sat  with  me  for  a  whole  hour,  gathering 
up  motive  for  a  new  struggle  with  his  enemy,  and 
setting  his  mental  forces  in  array.  The  idea  of 
criminality  in  drunkenness  took,  I  was  glad  to  see, 
a  deeper  and  deeper  hold  upon  him.  He  was  very 
severe  on  himself,  in  referring  to  the  wrongs  his 
family  had  once  suffered;  and  did  not  hesitate  to  call 
his  conduct  towards  them  an  aggravated  crime. 

"  You  have  helped  me  to  my  feet  again,"  he  said, 
holding  my  hand  tightly,  as  he  was  about  leaving 
my  office,  "  and  may  God  bless  you ;  not  for  my 


AS  BY  FIRE.  75 

sake  only,  but  for  the  sake  of  my  wife  and  children. 
A  criminal !  No,  no,  no !  A  good  citizen,  an  hon 
orable  man ;  Alexander  Granger  will  be  all  these — 
but  not  a  criminal !  Good-bye !  I  am  your  debtor 
more  than  can  be  estimated  in  an}'-  count  of  gold.. 
Good-bye,  and  again,  may  God  bless  you !" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DESPERATE  STRUGGLING. 

MY  confidence  in  Granger's  ability  to  control 
his  appetite  by  means  of  the  new  moral  ele 
ment  which  had  been  summoned  to  his  aid,  was  not 
as  strong  as  I  could  have  wished.  A  serious  ground 
of  fear  lay  in  the  fact,  which  had  been  fully  admitted, 
of  his  father's  intemperate  habits,  for  I  clearly  un 
derstood  the  subtle  power  of  all  transmitted  inclina 
tions  ;  especially  when  by  indulgence  these  inclina 
tions  are  lifted  above  the  region  of  latent  impulse 
and  become  a  living  force,  the  hereditary  and  the 
acquired  acting  in  the  same  direction.  How  power 
ful  had  been  their  action  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Granger, 
was  manifest  in  his  sudden  fail  after  a  whole  year 
of  abstinence.  In  this  renewed  struggle,  was  he 
not  weaker,  and  these  combined  forces  stronger,  than 
before?  I  could  not  get  my  mind » free  from  the 
depressing  effects  which  were  wrought  in  me  by  this 
view  of  the  case. 

But  my  anxieties  were  apparently  groundless. 
Granger  stood  firm  again ;  and  I  had  cause  for 
renewed  and  stronger  hope  in  the  permanence  of  his 
reformation  in  the  fact  that  he  was  less  boastful  as 
to  his  strength,  and  more  careful  to  keep  as  far  away 
from  temptation  as  possible.  I  made  it  a  duty  to  see 
76 


AS  BY  FIRE.  77 

him  frequently,  and  to  give  him  all  the  moral  sup 
port  in  my  power.  There  were  times  when  he 
talked  to  me  very  freely  about  his  old  life,  and  about 
the  latent  force  of  the  old  serpent  of  appetite  on 
which  he  had  set  his  heel. 

"  I  am  painfully  conscious,"  he  said  to  me,  one 
day — it  was  several  months  after  his  sudden  fall, 
and  quick  recovery  of  himself  again — "  that  appe 
tite  is  only  held  down  by  force ;  and  that  at  any 
moment  it  may  give  a  vigorous  spring  and  seek  to 
throw  its  slimy  folds  around  me." 

"  And  for  this  cause  you  are  always  on  guard,"  I 
replied. 

"Always." 

"  Herein  lies  your  safety.  You  are  stronger  than 
your  enemies ;  but,  to  be  safe,  must  never  unbuckle 
your  armor  nor  lay  aside  your  shield." 

"  Always  a  soldier;  always  in  front  of  the  enemy; 
always  standing  on  guard !  It  is  a  hard  life  for  a 
man  to  live.  How  I  long,  sometimes,  for  peace  and 
rest  and  safety !" 

"  Better  to  stand  always  in  full  armor  than  to  give 
the  slightest  advantage  to  your  cruel  foes.  You 
know  too  well  what  falling  into  their  power 
means." 

"  Alas !  too  well.  But,"  he  added,  with  a  serious 
contraction  of  the  brows,  "  is  there  no  time  in  the 
days  to  come,  when  these  enemies  shall  be  wholly 
destroyed  or  cast  out?  Am  I  never  to  dwell  in 
safety?" 


73  SA  VED 

He  looked  at  me  with  strong  and  eager  question 
ings  in  his  eyes. 

"Sometime,  I  trust."  My  reply  had  in  it  no 
assuring  quality. 

"  Sometime !  When  ?  In  this  world,  or  only  in 
the  next  ? — in  Heaven,  if  I  ever  should  be  so  for 
tunate  as  to  get  there  ?" 

"  Your  enemies  will  grow  weaker  the  longer  you 
hold  them  down ;  and  will  you  not  be  a  steady 
gainer  in  strength  for  every  day  and  year  you  keep 
this  mastery  over  them?  Every  day  and  year 
dwelling  more  and  more  secure  ?" 

"  What  do  you  understand  by  dypsomania  ?"  he 
asked,  abruptly. 

"It  is  a  term  used  by  some  medical  writers  to 
designate  what  they  regard  as  confirmed  inebriety — 
when  the  will-power  is  completely  overthrown,  and 
the  demands  of  the  diseased  organism  for  alcoholic 
stimulus  becomes  so  great  that  the  man  is  literally 
crazy  for  drink,"  I  replied. 

"What  do  they  say  about  it? — the  medical 
writers,  I  mean." 

"  They  give  but  little  ground  for  hope  of  cure  in 
one  so  demented." 

"  Demented  ?  Ah !  I  can  well  believe  it.  Crazy 
for  drink !  I  have  seen  men  so." 

"When  this  condition  is  fully  developed,  these 
writers  say,  the  brain  has  become  deteriorated  in 
quality,  and  its  functions  impaired.  All  the  higher 
faculties  are  more  or  less  weakened.  Reason,  judg- 


AK  B  Y  FIRE.  79 

merit,  perception  and  memory  lose  their  vigor  and 
capacity.  The  will  becomes  feeble  and  powerless. 
All  the  moral  sentiments  and  affections  become 
involved.  Conscience,  a  sense  of  accountability,  and 
of  right  and  wrong,  are  all  deadened,  while  the 
lower  propensities  and  passions  are  aroused,  and  ac 
quire  a  new  strength.  Another  effect  has  been 
observed :  No  influence  can  frighten  or  deter  the 
miserable  subject  from  indulging  his  passion  fcr 
drink.  To  gratify  it,  he  will  not  only  disre 
gard  every  consideration  of  a  personal  nature 
affecting  his  standing  in  society,  his  pecuniary  con 
dition,  or  the  well-being  of  his  family,  but  the  most 
frightful  instances  of  disasters  and  crimes,  ae  the 
consequences  of  drinking  fail  to  have  any  effect 
upon  him.  A  hundred  deaths  from  this  cause,  oc 
curring  under  the  most  revolting  circumstances,  fail 
to  impress  him  with  an  adequate  sense  of  his  own 
danger.  lie  would  pass  over  the  bodies  of  these 
wretched  victims  without  a  thought  of  warning,  in 
order  to  get  the  means  of  gratifying  his  own  insa 
tiate  thirst.  Such,  according  to  medical  testimony, 
is  the  dypsomaniac ;  or,  as  some  say,  the  subject  of 
confirmed  alcoholism ;  and  lie  is  considered  as  mor 
ally  insane." 

"  Fearful !"  ejaculated  Granger ;  "  and  we  tamper 
with  a  substance  that  can  work  such  ruin  to  the 
souls  and  bodies  of  men." 

"  There  is  something  mysterious  in  the  action  of 
this  substance  on  the  human  body  and  its  fuiic- 


30  SA  VED 

tions,"  I  replied.  "So. seductive  and  pleasant  in  its 
first  effects — so  enticing  and  so  alluring;  yet  so 
deadly  and  destructive  in  the  end.  An  almost  in 
visible  bond  at  the  beginning  and,  and  light  as  a 
spider's  thread,  but  at  the  last  an  iron  fetter." 

"I  met  with  an  extract  from  a  medical  journal 
to-day  that  gave  me  a  startling  impression  of  inse 
curity,"  said  Granger.  "As  you  intimated,  there 
must  be  something  occult  and  mysterious  in  the 
way  alcohol  works  its  insidious  changes  in  the  human 
economy.  We  know,  alas !  too  well,  that  here  effect 
does  not  cease  with  the  removal  of  the  cause.  The 
thirst,  which  increases  the  more  it  is  indulged,  is 
not  extinguished  by  prolonged  denial.  The  man 
never  gets  back  to  his  normal  state — to  a  point  where 
a  single  glass  of  liquor  will  produce  no  more  desire 
for  a  second  glass  than  did  the  first  he  drank  in 
youth  or  early  manhood.  One  would  support  that, 
after  a  longer  or  shorter  period  of  abstinence,  the 
man  would  regain  his  old  condition,  and  be  able  to 
taste  wine  or  spirits  without  immediate  danger. 
That  the  appetite,  if  indulged,  would  have  only 
gradual  increase  as  before.  But  all  experience  and 
observation  testify  that  this  is  not  so,  and  the  extract 
from  a  medical  journal  to  which  I  have  just  referrc-d 
professed  to  give  the  pathological  reason." 

"And  what  is  the  reason  so  given?"  I  asked. 

"It  startled  me,  as  I  have  said,"  he  answered. 
"The  statement  alleges  that  a  physician  of  some 
eminence  made  careful  examination,  by  dissection, 


AS  BY  FIRE.  81 

^f  the  blood  and  internal  organs  of  persons  who, 
before  death,  had  used  intoxicating  drinks  freely, 
and  found  in  these  subjects  an  enlargement  of  the 
blood  globules,  as  well  in  the  brain  as  in  the  other 
organs,  so  that  they  stood,  as  it  were,  open-mouthed, 
ithirst  always,  and  eager  for  drink." 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  abstinence  from  alcoholic  bever 
ages  must,  in  time,  change  this  condition,  and  the 
blood  globules  shrink  to  their  old  dimensions." 

"  The  fact  does  not  bear  out  the  inference.  It  is 
farther  stated,  that  the  physician  referred  to,  after 
clearly  ascertaining  the  existence  of  this  morbid 
change,  had  the  opportunity  to  dissect  the  brain  of 
a  man  who,  after  being  a  drunkard  for  many  years, 
reformed  and  lived  soberly  until  he  died.  His  sur 
prise  was  great  when  he  discovered  that  the  unnat 
urally  large  globules  of  the  blood  had  not  shrunk 
to  their  proper  size.  Though  they  did  not  exhibit 
the  inflammation  seen  in  the  drunkard's  brain,  they 
were  enlarged,  and  ready,  it  seemed,  on  the  instant, 
to  absorb  the  waited-for  alcohol,  and  resume  theii! 
old  diseased  condition.  The  conclusion  to  which 
the  physician  came  was  given  in  the  brief  article, 
He  believed  that  he  saw  in  this  morbid  state  of  the 
brain  the  physical  part  of  the  reason  why  a  mar 
who  has  once  been  a  drunkard  can  never  again  ay 
long  as  he  lives,  safely  take  one  drop  of  alcoholic 
liquor.  He  thought  he  saw  why  a  glass  of  wine 
put  a  man  back  instantly  to  where  he  was  when  he 
drank  all  the  time.  He  saw  the  citadel  free  from 
6 


82  *>A VED 

the  enemy,  but  undefended — incapable  of  defence — • 
its  doors  wide  open,  so  that  there  was  no  safety 
except  in  keeping  the  foe  at  a  distance,  away  beyond 
the  outermost  wall." 

"If  this  be  true,  every  reformed  man  should 
know  it,"  I  said.  "  The  statement  is  remarkable, 
and  great  pains  should  be  taken  to  ascertain,  by 
repeated  examinations,  whether  it  hold  good  in  other 
cases  or  not.  That  there  is  a  change  in  the  physical 

L        •* 

condition  of  inebriates,  we  all  know ;  and  we  also 
know  that  this  change  is  permanent.  But  whether 
it  be  in  the  blood  globules  or  not,  the  fact  itself 
should  stand  as  a  perpetual  warning  to  men  who 
have  at  any  time  been  the  slaves  of  this  appetite. 
And  1  do  not  think,  Mr.  Granger,  that  you  should 
find  in  the  philosophy  of  inebriation  heie  educed 
anything  to  discourage  you,  but  rather  a  new  motive 
for  keeping  your  foe  at  a  distance,  away  beyond  the 
outermost  wall,  as  has  been  said." 

"  But  the  citadel  incapable  of  defence — its  doors 
wide  open !  Think  of  that,  Mr.  Lyon  !" 

"  Yes ;  but  the  enemy  dislodged,  and  driven  over 
the  frontier — held  in  the  far  distance,  and  the  man 
able,  if  he  will,  to  hold  him  there  forever." 

"  Ah !  yes,  yes.  The  old  story.  No  safety  but  in 
eternal  vigilance."  Granger  spoke  as  one  who  felt 
weary  and  despondent. 

"  But  safety.  Don't  forget  that,  my  friend  !  Peace 
and  safety.  Ilich  harvest-fields,  and  secure  abiding. 
.Are  not  these  worth  all  the  vigilance  one  may  give?" 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  £3 

"Yes,  yes;  his  eternal  vigilance!"  He  roused 
himself  as  he  spoke.  "What  a  weak  coward  I  am! 
But  I  know  my  enemy,  and  the  vantage  ground  he 
holds." 

"  The  vantage  ground  is  yours,  instead,"  I  made 
reply.  "  Don't  forget  that ;  arid  let  each  new  reve 
lation  you  get  of  your  enemy's  strength,  alertness 
and  malignant  hate,  only  act  upon  you  as  a  new 
motive  for  watchfulness.  Let  the  resolute  will  that 
held  you  safe  for  a  whole  year,  add  its  strength  to 
the  new  motives  and  considerations  which  are  in 
fluencing  you  now." 

He  withdrew  his  gaze  from  me,  and  remained  in 
thought  for  a  considerable  time. 

'•  You  are  not  a  church-member?"  lifting  his  eyes 
to  my  face.  I  noticed  a  new  quality  in  his  tone  of 
voice. 

"  No ;  I  have  never  connected  myself  with  any 
religious  society." 

"Why  not?" 

"  It  might  be  difficult  to  assign  a  reason  that  would 
be  entirely  satisfactory  to  any  but  myself,  seeing 
that  I  am  a  reverent  believer  in  Holy  Scripture  and 
in  the  divinity  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus 
Christ.  But  I  do  not  find  in  the  sphere  of  worship, 
in  the  ordinary  range  of  preaching,  and  in  the 
practical  illustrations  of  Christianity  seen  in  the 
lives  and  conversation  of  most  of  the  church-mem 
bers  I  happen  to  know,  anything  to  awaken  a  desire 
to  cast  in  my  lot  with  *  God's  people,'  as  they  are  in 


34  8 A  VED 

the  habit  of  styling  themselves.  They  have  too 
much  cant  of  Sunday  piety  and  too  little  week-day 
charity  to  suit  me.  The  teachings  of  Christ  are 
very  explicit,  and  no  man  is  a  Christian,  let  him 
profess  what  he  may,  who  does  not  live  according  to 
His  divine  precepts.  To  be  a  Christian,  means  a 
great  deal  more  than  to  be  called  by  His  name ;  as 
so  many  really  seem  to  think.  To  join  a  church, 
and  take  part  in  its  worship  and  ordinances,  doesn't 
make  a  Christian.  It  may  make  a  self-deceiving 
Pharisee  or  hypocrite;  which  is  to  be  in  a  more 
dangerous  spiritual  condition  than  that  of  honest 
unbelief.  I  have  too  deeply-seated  a  reverence  for 
these  things  to  enter  into  them  lightly,  or  to  make 
of  them  a  stepping-stone  to  influence  and  respecta 
bility,  as  I  fear  is  so  frequently  the  case." 

Mr.  Granger  drew  a  long  sigh  as  I  stopped  speak 
ing,  and  I  saw  a  disappointed  expression  in  his  face. 

"  Have  you  thought  of  joining  the  church  ?"  I 
inquired. 

"Oh,  yes!  I've  thought  of  everything."  He  spoke 
with  a  slight  disturbance  of  manner.  "But  the 
question  has  always  been,  '  What  help  will  the 
church  give  me?'  and  so  far  the  answer  has  not 
been  satisfactory.  That  case  of  Mr.  Talbot,  about 
which  we  talked  once,  has  been  a  source  of  consid 
erable  discouragement.  He  was  a  clergyman,  you 
know,  in  the  church,  and  one  of  its  teachers ;  and 
yet  the  church  did  not  save  him  from  drunkenness." 

"  And  you  remember,"  I  added,  "  that  he  used 


AS  BY  FIRE.  g£ 

often,  as  he  said,  to  pray  to  God  on  bended  knees 
for  strength  to  resist  the  demon  of  drink,  but  all 
without  avail." 

"  Yes ;  I  remember  it."  His  voice  despondent, 
and  a  gloom  settling  over  his  face. 

What  did  this  mean  ?  The  truth  began  to  dawn 
on  me.  There  had  been  one  reserve  of  hope  left  in 
the  mind  of  Granger.  When  all  else  failed,  he 
would  go  to  God  for  help ;  and  in  my  seeming  de 
preciation  of  the  church  as  a  means  of  rescue,  had 
I  not  well  nigh  destroyed  this  hope  ? 

"  You  do  not  believe  in  the  value  of  prayer  ?" 
He  put  the  question  sharply. 

"  I  must  reject  the  Bible  if  I  reject  the  value  of 
prayer.  It  is  full  of  exhortation  to  pray.  '  Watch 
and  pray,  lest  ye  enter  into  temptation,'  are  the  words 
of  our  blessed  Lord  himself.  But  you  will  notice 
that  the  first  injunction  was  to  '  watch ;'  this  is  the 
man's  part.  If  he  be  not  watchful — ever  on  guard 
and  ready  to  resist  the  tempter — his  prayers  will  be 
offered  in  vain.  In  the  clergyman's  case,  prayer  on 
bended  knees  could  not  have  been  supplemented 
with  a  due  degree  of  watchfulness.  In  far  too  many 
cases  prayer  goes  for  nothing,  I  fear.  Is  a  mail 
secure  from  robbers  if  he  only  pray  for  protection, 
and  give  no  care  to  the  bolting  and  barring  of  his 
house  ?  Or  saved  from  drowning,  if  he  put  to  sea 
in  a  leaky  vessel,  trusting  that  God  will  keep  the 
wretched  craft  afloat  through  the  agency  of  prayer? 
There  must  be  praying  and  working,  asking  and 


86  SA  VED 

doing ;  the  putting  forth  of  our  utmost  strength,  at 
the  same  time  that  our  cry  for  help  goes  up.  This 
is  my  idea  of  effective  prayer." 

There  came  back  into  Granger's  face  a  more  as 
sured  expression. 

"  I  see  reason  in  that,"  lie  said.  "And  yet,"  after 
a  pause,  "how  much  easier  just  to  cry  out,  as  Peter 
did,  '  Save,  Lord !'  and  be  saved  without  an  effort  to 
bear  yourself  above  the  engulfing  water." 

"  Did  Peter  make  no  effort  ?"  I  asked. 

"  None.     He  just  cried  out,  '  Lord,  save  me !' ' 

"  What  was  he  doing  ?" 

"Trying  to  go  to  the  Lord  over  the  angry 
waters." 

"  Walking,  as  steadily  as  he  could,  on  the  turbu 
lent  billows.  Walking,  you  see ;  trying  to  get  to 
Jesus ;  doing  his  best.  And  this  means,  I  think, 
that  we  must  do  something  hi  the  way  of  going  to 
the  Lord  besides  mere  looking  toward  him  and  call 
ing  upon  Him.  We  must  endeavor  to  walk — that 
is,  to  live  right — and  the  first  step  in  right  living  is 
to  l  cease  to  do  evil.'  He  who  thus  tries  to  go  to 
Christ,  over  the  tempestuous  waves  of  sin  that  leap 
about  his  feet,  will,  when  his  '  Save,  Lord,'  breaks 
out  in  a  half-despairing  cry,  find  himself  grasped  by 
one  who  is  mighty  to  save." 

The  strength  of  his  countenance  increased. 

tf  You  have  given  me  some  light.  Help  does  not 
come  to  effortless  weakness." 

ft  Not  the  help  that  saves  a  man  from  the  wretch- 


AS  BT  FIRE.  gy 

edness  that  sin  has  brought  upon  him.  He  sinned 
freely,  and  God  did  not  hold  him  back  from  sin 
with  a  force  greater  than  his  will,  for  that  would 
have  been  to  destroy  in  him  all  that  makes  him 
human,  his  rationality  and  his  freedom.  As  he 
sinned  freely,  breaking  God's  laws,  so  he  must  re 
pent  and  return  freely.  He  must  come  back  of 
himself,  as  did  the  Prodigal  Son ;  but  God  will  see 
him  afar  off  and  run  .to  meet  him,  and  throw  His 
loving  arms  about  him  and  rejoice  over  him.  But, 
in  all  this,  He  will  not  touch  his  freedom  ;  will  do 
nothing  for  him  in  which  the  man  does  not,  as  it 
were,  do  the  things  for  himself,  God  being  his 
helper." 

I  saw  Granger's  countenance  begin  to  fall  again. 

"  If  I  could  only  see  it  clearly,"  he  answered.  "If 
I  only  knew  just  how  God  saves  to  the  uttermost  all 
who  come  unto  Him." 

"  Don't  let  us  talk  any  mere  about  it  just  now," 
I  replied ;  "  it  is  disturbing  your  mind,  and  that 
isn't  good.  Hold  fast  where  you  now  stand;  re 
sist  all  allurement;  give  no  place  to  the  enemy, 
and  while  keeping  vigilant  watch,  pray  for  help 
from  God.  You  will  be  safer  for  this,  I  am 


sure." 


He  sat  silent  for  a  little  while,  and  then,  as  he 
arose,  said,  speaking  as  if  to  himself:  "  Except  the 
Lord  build  the  house,  they  labor  in  vain  who  build 
it;  except  the  Lord  keep  the  city,  the  watchman 
waketh  in  vain." 


88 


SAVED 


I  did  not  think  it  well  to  make  any  reply.  He 
stood  for  a  few  moments,  as  if  waiting  my  response; 
but  as  I  gave  none,  he  wished  me  a  good-day  and 
retired. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ANXIOUS  FEAES. 

I  HAD  been  drawn,  in  this  interview  with  Gran 
ger,  a  little  away  from  my  old  mooring  ground 
of  thought,  and  I  sat  for  a  long  time  in  deep  reflec 
tion,  trying  to  get  many  things  clear  that  were  veiled 
in  obscurity,  and  to  discover  just  where  I  was  drift 
ing.  This  question  of  prayer  as  an  agency  of 
strength  and  salvation  to  weak,  repentant,  sin-bur 
dened  souls,  was  one,  I  could  see,  of  infinite  import 
ance.  There  was,  with  a  large  class  of  pious  people, 
a  loose  way  of  talking  about  prayer,  and  a  manner 
of  praying  that  was,  to  my  mind,  not  only  irrever 
ent,  but  foolish  and  utterly  valueless.  Of  all  the 
Sunday  services,  the  prayers  to  God,  especially  those 
that  were  extempore,  had  been  most  distasteful  to 
me,  and  oftenest  the  repelling  influence  that  kept 
me  away  from  church.  There  was  a  familiar  way 
of  addressing  God,  and  of  using  His  name  in  vain, 
that  shocked  me,  for  my  reverence  for  the  Divine 
Being,  a  reverence  implanted  in  childhood,  has 
always  been  very  strong,  and  I  have  never  been  able 
to  pronounce  any  of  the  names  by  which  He  is 
called  without  a  falling  inflection  of  the  voice  which 
has  become  instinctive. 

I  did  not,  as  a  consequence,  have  much  faith  in 
89 


90  SA  VED 

the  prayers  that  I  usually  heard  in  public,  too  many 
of  which  were  mere  bits  of  effective  oratory,  instead 
of  a  humble  submission  of  the  will  to  God.  How 
often,  as  I  listened  wearily  to  one  of  these  long 
prayers,  full  of  vain  repetitions,  has  the  divine  sen 
tence,  "  God  is  a  Spirit,  and  they  that  worship  Him 
must  worship  Him  in  spirit  and  in  truth,"  come  into 
my  mind,  causing  me  to  wonder  that  the  preacher 
had  forgotten  it. 

And  now  there  pressed  in  upon  me  the  question, 
in  what  does  the  power  of  prayer  consist?  Does  it 
change  the  Lord's  attitude  toward  man,  or  only 
man's  attitude  toward  God  ?  Does  it  bring  down 
the  sunlight  into  a  darkened  chamber,  or  only  open 
the  windows  that  its  beams  may  enter?  How  it 
might  change  man's  attitude  toward  God,  I  could,  in 
a  measure  see ;  but  not  how  it  could  change  the  un 
changeable,  render  the  All-Loving  more  tender  and 
compassionate,  or  make  the  Infinite  Father  more 
concerned  for  His  sin-sick,  lost  and  perishing  child 
ren,  for  whom  He  had  bowed  the  heavens  and  come 
down. 

I  saw  that  in  the  right  understanding  of  this  sub 
ject  lay  momentous  things ;  and  I  was  anxious  to 
reach  a  true  perception  of  all  that  was  involved  in 
prayer  as  a  means  of  divine  blessing  and  favor.  My 
thinking  did  not  get  me  far  beyond  a  rejection  of 
the  idea  that  any  change  in  God's  purposes  toward 
man  could  be  wrought  in  Him  by  prayer.  If  He 
were  infinitely  wise  and  infinitely  loving,  He  must 


• 


AS  BY  FIRE.  91 

not  only  know  better  what  external  condition  waa 
best  for  a  man  than  the  man  could  know  for  himself 

5 

but  in  the  orderings  of  His  providence  must  so 
arrange  all  things  that  he  would  be  kept  there  until 
his  changing  state  required,  for  his  good,  a  new 
position  in  life. 

But  in  what  way  did  prayer  change  man's  rela 
tion  to  God  ?  I  felt  that  the  truth  lay  here,  but 
was  not  able  to  see  it  clearly ;  and  I  thought  and 
thought  until  I  grew  weary  and  perplexed,  and  for 
relief  of  mind  turned  myself  away  from  the  sub 
ject. 

Several  months  passed  after  this  interview  with 
Mr.  Granger,  and  though  we  met  occasionally,  the 
subject  about  which  we  had  talked  so  earnestly  was 
not  renewed.  I  learned  through  my  wife  that  he 
came  to  church  with  his  family  now  and  then ;  and 
the  fact  always  gave  me  pleasure,  for  I  had  a  grow 
ing  impression  that  there  was  a  sphere  of  safety 
about  the  church,  and  especially  for  one  like  Gran 
ger.  There  was  in  the  very  fact  of  his  going  to 
church  an  acknowledgment  of  weakness  on  his  part, 
and  a  certain  looking  to  God  for  strength  and  pro 
tection.  And  I  had  an  old  and  well-settled  convic 
tion  which  had  come  up  with  me  from  childhood — 
inwrought,  I  doubt  not,  through  my  mother's  teach 
ings — that  in  any  and  every  turning  of  the  soul  to 
God,  no  matter  how  little  the  turning,  it  must 
receive  a  measure,  large  or  small,  of  strength  to 
resist  the  evils  to  which  we  are  all  so  much  inclined. 


92  SA  VED 

I  had  been  going  oftener  to  church  myself  of 
late,  and  though  my  reason  did  not  give  assent  to 
all  the  preacher  said,  and  I  was  shocked  now  and 
then  by  his  irreverent  way  of  addressing  God,  and 
his  too  frequent  and  needless  use  of  Divine  names 
in  order  to  give  force  to  a  sentence,  or  to  make  an 
oratorical  climax,  I  was  still  able  to  gather  into  my 
thoughts  many  things  that  gave  me  light  for  clearer 
seeing,  and  strength  for  steadier  walking  in  the  path 
of  life.  I  was  growing  less  captious  and  critical — 
less  annoyed  at  what  I  did  not  like,  and  more  earnest 
to  obtain  whatever  good  was  to  be  had  in  the  reli 
gious  services  that  were  held  on  Sunday.  I  found 
myself  taking  a  new  interest  in  the  lessons  which 
were  read  from  the  Bible,  many  passages  from  which 
struck  my  mind  with  a  singular  power,  and  left  an 
impression  of  deeper  import  than  I  had  ever  before 
seen  in  them.  I  often  found  myself  pondering  one 
and  another  of  these  passages,  and  giving  to  them 
an  application  which  altered  my  thought  of  God 
and  of  His  ways  with  the  children  of  men.  I  no 
ticed  changes  in  my  states  of  mind,  when  listening 
to  the  Word  of  Sacred  Scripture — I  had  for  some 
years  neglected  reading  it  for  myself — that  occurred 
to  me  as  remarkable.  There  sometimes  fell  upon 
me  a  deep  tranquillity,  as  if  I  had  passed  from  the 
unrest  of  this  world  into  the  peace  of  Heaven.  And 
there  would  come,  at  times,  states  of  self-forgetful- 
ness,  and  a  desire  to  give  my  life  for  others.  I  often 
dwelt  on  these  things,  wondering  what  they  meant. 


AS  BY  FIRE.  93 

Was  there  not  a  power  in  the  Word  of  God,  which 
did  not  appear  in  the  sense  of  its  letter,  but  which 
flowed  into  the  mind  with  that  sense  as  a  soul  into 
the  body? 

The  Word  of  God !  What  does  this  mean?  The 
question  came  to  me  one  day  with  such  force  and 
distinctness,  that  it  seemed  as  though  spoken  by  a 
living  voice.  The  Word  of  God !  Could  that  be 
like  a  man's  word ;  limited,  feeble,  finite  ?  Was 
there  any  ratio  between  them  ?  I  thought  of  the 
many  loose  interpretations  which  I  had  heard ;  of 
.  the  contentions  and  angry  discussions  about  the 
meaning  of  this  and  that  expression  in  the  letter ;  of 
the  divisions  and  uncharitableness,  and  persecutions 
even,  which  were  so  sadly  rife  in  the  Christian 
world,  and  all  because  men  vainly  imagined  that 
human  reason  was  equal  to  the  comprehension  of 
Divine  wisdom ;  and  set  the  metes  and  bounds  of 
their  narrow  doctrine  about  a  Revelation  from  God 
in  which  were  divine  and  infinite  things  that  must 
remain  forever  above  the  reach  of  man's  unaided 
reason ;  and  which  only  the  Spirit  of  God  can  make 
known. 

I  marvelled  often  at  the  low  range  and  dull 
platitudes  of  the  pulpit ,  at  the  stereotyped  vague 
ness  of  exhortation,  and  at  the  small  influence  of 
preachers.  There  were  exceptions,  of  course;  but 
how  few !  With  the  Word  of  God  as  the  basis  of 
Christian  teaching,  and  especially  with  the  Word  of 
the  New  Testament,  in  which  our  Lord  himself,  in 


94 

the  human  nature  which  He  assumed  in  the  world 
and  made  divine,  gives  in  no  hidden  forms  of  speech, 
the  laws  of  spiritual  life,  through  the  keeping  of 
which  alone  man  can  be  saved ;  with  all  this,  how 
strange  to  hear  from  the  men  who  have  been  chosen 
to  stand  as  watchmen  on  the  walls  of  the  city,  so 
little  about  keeping  the  commandments  in  their 
inmost  spirit  as  the  only  way  of  salvation.  "  He  that 
keepeth  my  commandments,  he  it  is  that  loveth 
me.' 

A  dull,  rambling  sermon,  or  one  in  which  the 
preacher  showed  how  much  more  he  knew  about 
history,  philosophy,  poetry  and  art  than  he  did 
about  divine  things,  would  send  me  home  disheart 
ened,  and  with  a  disinclination  to  go  again,  which 
sometimes  held  me  away  from  church  service  for 
weeks.  But  there  was  in  me  a  growing  hunger  and 
thirst  for  things  spiritual.  I  wanted  to  gain  a  clear 
and  more  rational  idea  of  God's  relations  to  and 
dealings  with  man,  and  a  knowledge  of  the  exact 
way  in  which  He  saved  him. 

The  better  influences  of  church-going  on  my  own 
mind  gave  me  encouragement  for  Granger.  I  felt 
sure  that  he  would  come  within  a  sphere  of  protec 
tion  ;  that,  somehow,  he  would  be  brought  into  new 
associations  as  to  his  spirit,  and  be  less  in  danger 
when  exposed  to  assault. 

"  I  haven't  seen  Mr.  Granger  at  church  for  three 
or  four  Sundays,"  said  my  wife,  one  day.  "  I  hope 
there  is  nothing  wrong  with  him  again."  I  saw  a 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  95 

shade  of  concern  creep  into  her  face.  "  He's  been 
attending  quite  regularly  in  the  past  few  months." 

"  I  saw  him  on  the  street  only  a  few  days  ago,"  I 
replied.  "  There  was  nothing  wrong  about  him  then; 
at  least  nothing  that  I  observed." 

And  yet,  as  I  said  this,  I  remembered  that  I  had 
noticed  -in  him  something  that  left  a  vague  question 
in  my  mind.  But  it  had  passed  away  and  been  for 
gotten  until  my  wife's  remark  brought  it  back  again. 

"  I  fancied — it  may  only  have  been  fancy,"  Mrs. 
Lyon  said,  "  that  Mrs.  Granger's  face  looked  more 
serious  than  usual." 

"  Only  a  fancy,"  I  replied;  but  still  I  felt  a  weight 
of  concern  settling  down  upon  my  feelings.  It  re 
mained  with  me  all  day  and  troubled  me  as  I  went 
to  my  office  on  the  next  morning.  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  to  see  Granger  during  the  forenoon,  but 
pressing  business  kept  me  at  my  office  until  two 
o'clock,  when  I  returned  home  to  dinner.  > 

"  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Granger  ?"  asked  my  wife, 
as  I  came  in.  There  was  an  air  of  suspense  in  her 
manner, 

"  No,  I  intended  calling  on  him,  but  had  an 
unusually  busy  day." 

"  If  I'm  not  very  much  mistaken,  I  saw  him,"  sha 
said. 

"Where?" 

"  Going  into  a  saloon  on  Sansom  Street." 

"  No ;  you  must  have  been  mistaken." 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  so ;  but  if  the  man  I  saw 


96  SA  VED 

entering  a  saloon,  as  I  passed  down  Twelfth  Street, 
was  not  Mr.  Granger,  then  there  was  a  remarkable 
likeness  in  the  general  appearance  of  the  two  men." 

"  Did  you  see  his  face  ?" 

"  Only  for  an  instant.  He  was  at  the  door  of  the 
saloon  just  as  I  came  in  sight  of  him,  and  in  the 
next  moment  had  disappeared.  His  manner  was 
that  of  one  who  wished  to  avoid  observation.  I  am 
almost  sure  it  was  Mr.  Granger." 

I  had  but  little  appetite  for  my  dinner.  In  the 
afternoon  I  called  at  the  lawyer's  office,  but  did  not 
find  him  there.  Next  day  I  met  him  on  the  street. 
His  manner  was  not  quite  as  frank  and  cordial  as 
usual ;  but  beyond  this  I  saw  no  change  in  him.  It 
was  plain  that  my  wife  had  been  mistaken.  My 
first  impression  was  one  of  relief;  but  a  feeling  of 
complete  confidence  did  not  return,  and  there  was  a 
weight  on  my  heart  which  I  could  not  throw  off. 

Granger  was  not  at  church  on  the  following  Sun 
day.  His  wife  and  daughter  were  in  attendance  as 
usual,  and  there  was  now  no  mistaking  the  fact  that 
a  portion  of  light  had  gone  out  of  their  faces.  In 
the  afternoon  I  called  to  see  him,  but  he  was  not  at 
home.  About  ten  o'clock  on  the  next  day  I  dropped 
into  his  office,  and  found  him  with  a  segar  in  his 
mouth  reading  a  newspaper.  He  had,  apparently, 
just  arrived,  for  his  green  bag  lay  unopened  on  the 
office  table.  He  started  up  on  seeing  me,  coloring 
a  little,  and  extending  his  hand  with  what  seemed 
to  ine  an  excess  of  cordiality.  I  looked  for  the  color 


AS  BY  FIRE.  97 

to  recede  from  his  face  until  the  skin  was  restored 
to  the  old  healthy  clearness,  but  either  my  eyes  de 
ceived  me,  or  the  ruddy  tinge  did  not  fade  out 
entirely. 

Granger  was  not  completely  at  his  ease,  though 
evidently  trying  to  be  so.  I  remained  for  only  a 
short  time,  as  my  call  was  not  a  business  one.  Our 
conversation  did  not  pass  beyond  the  common-place 
topics  of  the  day. 

"  Call  in  again.  I'm  always  glad  to  see  you,"  he 
said,  with  the  same  excess  of  cordiality  which  he 
had  shown  on  meeting  me. 

I  was  far  from  feeling  satisfied. 

"  How  is  our  friend  Granger  ?"  I  asked  of  a  mu 
tual  acquaintance  not  many  days  afterwards. 

"  Not  doing  right,  I'm  afraid,"  he  answered. 

"Why  do  you  think  so?" 

"  I've  seen  him  two  or  three  times  of  late  when  I 
fancied  him  the  worse  for  drink." 

"  May  you  not  have  been  mistaken  ?" 

"  Possibly." 

"  Why  did  you  fancy  he  had  been  drinking  ?" 

"  There  are  signs  which  one  rarely  mistakes,"  he 
replied. 

"  If  he  should  get  off  again,"  I  said,  "  there  will, 
I  fear,  be  little  hope  for  him." 

"  Very  little.  But  he's  been  down  and  up  a  great 
many  times,  you  know." 

"  Yes ;  but  in  the  very  nature  of  things  he  must 
grow  weaker  with  every  fall." 
7 


98  SA  VED 

"  Of  course." 

"  What  is  to  be  done  about  him  ?  It's  dreadful 
to  see  a  man  going  headlong  to  destruction.  Is  there 
no  way  to  save  him  ?" 

"  None  that  I  know  of.  When  this  appetite  is 
once  established  with  a  man,  his  case  becomes  almost 
hopeless.  Every  step  he  takes  is  downward.  He 
may  stop  now  and  then,  and  hold  himself  back 
against  the  downward  drag,  but  when  he  moves 
again  the  course  is  still  down,  down,  until  the  gulf 
of  ruin  is  reached  at  last.  Is  it  not  frightful  ?" 

I  felt  a  chill  creep  through  my  veins  There 
seemed  in  his  words  a  prophecy  of  utter  ruin  for 
Granger. 

"  lie  has  stood  firm,  with  only  a  single  brief  fall, 
for  nearly  two  years,"  I  said. 

"  And  he  might  stand  to  the  end,  but  not  if  he 
dallies  with  the  fatal  cup,"  was  answered.  "  No  man 
in  whom  the  appetite  for  drink  has  once  been  formed 
can  ever  taste  and  be  secure.  Only  in  perfect  ab 
stinence  is  there  perfect  safety.  The  old  appetite 
lies  sleeping,  but  not  dead.  Rouse  it  with  a  glass  of 
wine,  or  beer,  or  spirits,  and  it  will  spring  upon  the 
man  with  the  old  intense  life,  and  he  will  be  as  a 
feeble  child  in  its  grasp.  If  Granger  is  indulging 
again,  he  will  fall  again.  He  may,  through  a  reso 
lute  will,  hold  himself  for  a  little  while  above  excess; 
but  every  glass  he  takes  is  food  to  the  old  desire, 
which  will  grow  stronger  and  stronger  until  its  mas 
tery  is  again  complete." 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  99 

"  It  doesn't  seem  right  to  hold  ourselves  away 
from  him  in  so  momentous  a  crisis — to  leave  him  in 
the  sweep  of  the  current  and  not  make  an  effort  to 
save  him,"  I  said. 

"  I  doubt  if  anything  can  be  done.  At  your  first 
approach,  he  will  either  take  offense,  or  utterly  re 
ject  your  intimation  that  he  has  been  indulging 
again.  I  know  these  men.  Lying  seems  to  be  one 
of  the  fruits  of  drinking.  Liquor  is  almost  sure, 
earlier  or  later,  to  take  the  truth  out  of  a  man — 
especially  in  anything  that  relates  to  his  cups,  so 
long  as  he  yields  to  indulgence.  Men  will  assure 
you,  even  asking  God  to  witness  the  truth  of  what 
they  say,  that  they  have  not  taken  a  drop  of  liquor 
for  weeks,  when-  its  odor  from  their  lips  is  rank  in 
your  nostrils.  I  know  of  nothing  that  so  takes  truth, 
and  honor,  and  all  that  is  good  and  true  and  noble 
out  of  a  man,  as  this  alcohol.  It  is  a  very  hell- 
broth  !" 

I  could  not  rest.  To  stand  away  from  Granger 
in  this  new  peril,  would,  I  felt,  be  little  less  than 
criminal.  How  to  approach  him  without  givii?g 
offense  was  the  question  I  had  to  consider.  T}  e 
opportunity  soon  came. 


H  AFTER  VIII. 

DECEIVING  HIMSELF. 

A  DAY  or  two  afterwards,  as  I  stood  talking 
with  a  friend  in  the  Continental  Hotel,  I  saw 
Granger  pass  into  the  bar.  I  moved  to  a  position 
from  which  I  could  observe  him.  He  called  for  a 
glass  of  ale,  and  drank  it  off  at  a  single  draught. 
His  manner  was  slightly  nervous  and  a  little  hurried. 
I  threw  myself  in  his  way  as  he  left  the  bar,  and 
noticed  a  start  of  surprise  when  his  eyes  rested  on 
me. 

"  Ah  !  Lyon.  Glad  to  see  you !"  The  salutation 
was  given  with  heartiness.  But  he  did  not  look  me 
steadily  in  the  face.  We  walked  out  into  the  street, 
both  silent  until  we  reached  the  pavement. 

"  I'm  sorry  about  this,  Granger,"  I  said. 

"  About  what  ?"  He  affected  not  to  understand 
me. 

"You  cannot  use  ale  and  be  safe.  You  know 
this  as  well  as  I  do." 

His  lips  closed  tightly,  and  his  brows  fell.  We 
walked  for  a  little  way,  neither  of  us  speaking. 

"  Come  round  to  my  office,  and  let  us  have  a  talk 
about  this  matter,"  said  I,  as  we  reached  the  next 
corner. 

"  Not  to-day."  He  drew  out  his  watch  and  looked 
100 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

at  the  time.  "  I  have  an  engagement  with  a  client 
But  don't  give  yourself  any  trouble  about  me,  Lyon, 
I'm  all  right." 

"  But  to-morrow  may  tell  a  different  story,"  I  re 
plied.  "  No,  no,  Granger !  You  must  not  go  a 
step  farther  in  this  way.  A  precipice  lies  just  be 
yond!" 

"  Another  time ;  but  now  I  must  hurry  to  my 
engagement."  Saying  which,  he  left  me  abruptly. 

My  concern  was  great  That  he  could  stand  se 
cure  feeding  his  old,  fierce  appetite  with  a  glass  of 
ale  now  and  then,  I  knew  to  be  impossible,  and  he- 
knew  it  as  well — only,  subtle  desire  was  pressing  for 
indulgence,  and  blinding  him  with  false  assurances. 

I  did  not  see  him  again  for  two  or  three  days, 
though  I  had  twice  called  at  his  office.  At  last  I 
found  him  in.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  I 
could  see  from  the  color  of  his  face  that  he  had 
been  drinking,  though  not  to  excess.  He  received 
me  with  the  old  friendliness  of  manner,  and  without 
any  sign  of  embarrassment 

"  You've  come  for  that  talk  with  me,  I  suppose," 
he  said,  smiling,  and  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 
"All  right.  You  see  I'm  not  down  in  the  gutter, 
for  all  the  prophecy  that  was  in  your  face  the  other/ 
day." 

There  was  a  certain  lightness  of  tone  and  manner 
about  him,  that  in  view  of  the  subject  to  which  he 
referred,  almost  shocked  me.  He  must  have  noticed 
this,  for  he  added,  in  a  more  serious  voice:  "I 


102  SA  VED 

know  how  you  feel,  Mr.  Lyon,  but  let  me  assure 
you  that  I  am  in  no  danger  of  falling  back  into 
that  wretched  slough  from  which  you  helped  to  ex 
tricate  me.  I  have  too  vivid  a  remembrance  of  its 
suffocating  mire  and  horrible  foulness  ever  to  let  my 
feet  go  near  its  treacherous  margin  again." 

"  "What  and  where  are  the  margins  of  this  dread 
ful  slough  ?"  I  asked. 

He  did  not  answer. 

"  I  saw  you  on  one  of  these  margins,  your  feet  in 
the  very  slime  of  the  pit,  only  a  few  days  ago." 

A  smile  broke  over  his  face. 

"  Your  way  of  putting  it.  But,  seriously,  Lyon, 
I  am  not  in  the  danger  you  think.  How  long  do 
you  suppose  it  is  since  I've  been  using  a  little  ale 
every  day  ?  More  than  two  months.  I  was  getting 
run  down  from  too  close  application  to  business,  and 
the  doctor  said  I  must  have  a  tonic.  *  Take  a  glass 
of  stout  or  bitter  ale  with  your  dinner,'  he  said.  Of 
course  that  couldn't  be.  My  wife  would  have  been 
frightened  to  death." 

"Did  the  doctor  know  anything  of  your  previous 
life?"  I  inquired. 

"  Can't  say  about  that.     He  may  or  he  may  not." 

"  Your  regular  family  physician  ?" 

"  No.  Haven't  had  a  regular  doctor  in  the  family 
for  three  or  four  years." 

"And  you  have  followed  his  prescription  ?" 

"Yes;  only  I  don't  take  the  ale  with  my  dinner. 
I've  felt  like  another  man  ever  since.  Can  do  more 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

work  with  less  exhaustion.  Have  a  clearer  head, 
and  more  elastic  feelings.  The  ale  simply  gives  a 
needed  tonic,  which  the  system  absorbs,  and  there 
the  matter  ends." 

"You  think  so?" 

"  I'm  sure  of  it." 

"  With  all  your  sad  experience,  Mr.  Granger,  to 
take  so  fearful  a  risk  !" 

"  1  know  how  the  thing  looks  to  you,  Mr.  Lyon ; 
and  I  know  how  it  stands  with  me.  I  am  not  taking 

O 

this  ale  to  gratify  an  appetite,  but  simply  as  a  tonic, 
which  my  system  requires.  Here  lies  my  safety.  I 
am  not  off  guard  for  a  single  moment.  I  am  not 
only  using  the  will-power  which  held  me  secure  so 
long,  but  motives  of  good  citizenship,  and  love  and 
duty  towards  my  family  are  more  powerful  than 
ever.  If  appetite  attempts  to  lift  its  head  again,  I 
shall  set  my  crushing  heel  upon  it.  I  am  standing 
in  the  strength  of  a  true  manhood." 

"  Have  you  forgotten,"  I  said,  "  that  testimony  of 
a  physician  in  regard  to  the  enlargement  of  the 
blood  globules  in  the  habitually  intemperate  ?" 

Granger  made  a  slight  gesture  of  impatience  as 
he  replied :  "  Nothing  in  it.  I've  talked  with  half 
a  dozen  physicians  and  scientific  men  on  the  sub 
ject." 

"  But,  apart  from  that  particular  theory,"  I  said, 
"  the  fact  remains,  as  you  know,  that  in  a  man  who 
has  once  been  intemperate,  certain  changes  in  the 
state  of  the  body  have  been  wrought,  which  remain 


j  04  SA  VED 

permanent.  Whether  this  change  be  in  the  blood- 
globules  or  not,  the  imminent  danger  of  the  man, 
should  alcohol  be  introduced  into  his  blood,  is  just 
the  same.  The  truth  or  falsity  of  the  physician's 
theory  in  no  way  touches  the  essential  facts  iu  the 
case." 

As  I  spoke,  I  saw  a  quick,  startled  motion  of  his 
eyes,  but  it  was  gone  in  an  instant. 

"Have  you  forgotten  Mr,  Talbot?"  I  asked. 

"  Such  cases  are  exceptional,"  he  replied,  with  a 
toss  of  the  head.  "  We  don't  meet  with  them  once 
in  an  age." 

"The  history  of  intemperance  is  the  history  of 
such  cases,"  I  replied.  "  You  are  deceiving  your 
self.  Thousands  and  thousands  of  such  men  go 
down  to  dishonored  graves  every  year.  My  dear 
friend,  you  are  taking  a  fearful  risk !" 

Granger  drew  a  little  away  from  me  with  a  slight 
ly  offended  air. 

"  We  shall  see,"  he  answered,  somewhat  coldly, 
and  then  changed  the  subject.  I  tried  to  come  back 
to  it  again,  but  he  pushed  it  aside  with  so  manifest 
a  purpose  not  to  continue  the  discussion  that  I  had 
nothing  left  but  silence. 

Every  day  I  looked  for  his  fall.  But  it  did  not 
come  suddenly,  as  I  had  feared.  The  usual  business 
hour  found  him  at  his  office  with  each  new  morn 
ing,  and  his  presence  in  court  was  as  prompt  and  as 
regular  as  usual.  But  there  was  not  an  observant 
friend  or  acquaintance  who  did  not  see  the  steady 


AS  BY  FIRE.  105 

change  that  was  in  progress.  It  was  slow,  but  sure. 
The  man  was  most  warily  on  guard ;  limiting  his 
appetite— holding  it  down — saying  to  it,  "I  am  your 
master.  So  much  and  no  more.  Enough  for  tonic 
and  strength,  but  nothing  for  indulgence."  And  yet, 
from  a  single  glass  of  ale  a  day,  the  concession  to 
appetite  had  reached,  at  the  end  of  three  months,  to 
as  many  as  three  or  four,  by  which  time  the  strong 
will,  and  the  motives  of  interest,  honor  and  affection, 
in  which  he  had  entrenched  himself,  vrere  beginning 
to  show  signs  of  weakness. 

I  met  him  one  day  about  this  period  of  his  declen 
sion.  It  was  in  the  court-room.  I  had  been  drawn 
thither  through  my  interest  in  a  case  in  which  he 
appeared  as  counsel  for  the  defendant,  a  man  011 
trial  for  his  life — an  old  man,  gray-headed,  bent  and 
broken — one  of  the  saddest  wrecks  I  had  ever  seen. 
This  man  had  once  been  a  successful  merchant,  and 
the  possessor  of  considerable  wealth.  I  well  remem 
ber  the  time  when  he  occupied  a  handsome  residence 
on  Walnut  Street,  and  when  his  wife  and  daughters 
moved  in  the  best  social  circles  of  our  city.  But  his 
head  was  not  strong  enough  for  the  wine  that  proved 
his  betrayer,  and  in  the  very  prime  and  glory  of  his 
manhood  he  began  to  fall.  Methodical  habits,  and 
the  orderly  progression  of  a  long-established  busi 
ness,  kept  him  free  from  losses  in  trade  for  some 
years  after  his  sagacity  as  a  merchant  had  left  him. 
But  the  time  came  when  the  tide  began  to  turn  ad 
versely.  Younger  partners,  who  had  new  ideas  of 


136  SAVED 

business,  were  impatient  of  slow  gains.  Into  their 
hands  came  a  larger  and  a  larger  control  of  things, 
and  the  opportunity  for  speculation.  As  in  all  other 
kinds  of  gambling,  trade  speculations  lead  surely  to 
ultimate  losses.  Winning  is  the  exception  ;  loss  the 
rule.  It  took  only  a  few  years  to  bring  the  firm  to 
bankruptcy. 

The  merchant  never  recovered  himself.  Capital 
gone,  and  brain  and  body  enervated  by  intemperance, 
lie  did  not  even  make  a  struggle,  and  at  the  age  of 
fifty-five  dropped  out  of  useful  life,  and  became  a 
burden,  a  shame  and  a  sorrow  to  his  friends  and 
family.  An  income  in  her  own  right  of  a  few  hun 
dred  dollars  possessed  by  his  wife,  saved  them  from 
Utter  poverty.  There  were  two  beautiful  daughters, 
as  refined  and  intelligent  as  any  you  meet  in  the 
most  cultivated  circles.  Alas  for  them !  The  pleas 
ant  places  in  which  they  had  moved  saw  them  no 
more. 

Ten  years  later,  and  the  broken  merchant,  in  a 
frenzy  of  delirium  brought  on  by  drinking,  struck 
down  his  wife  with  a  blow  that  caused  her  death.  A 
trial  for  murder  was  the  consequence,  in  which  Mr. 
Granger  conducted  the  defense.  One  of  the  saddest 
and  most  painful  features  of  this  trial  was  the  appear 
ance  in  court  of  the  two  daughters  as  witnesses,  and 
the  evidence  they  were  compelled  to  give.  I  can  see 
them  now,  with  ten  years  of  sorrow  and  humiliation 
written  in  their  pale,  suffering  faces,  as  they  stood  in 
the  witness-box,  tearful  and  reluctant.  Pity  made 


AS  BY  FIRE. t  107 

even  the  lawyers  tender  and  considerate  in  pressing 
their  examination ;  but  enough  came  out  to  give  the 
heart-ache  to  nearly  all  who  were  in  the  court-room. 
It  was  one  of  the  most  painful  scenes  I  had  ever 
witnessed. 

When  all  the  evidence  was  in,  and  Mr.  Granger's 
turn  came  to  address  the  jury  in  behalf  of  the 
prisoner,  the  pause  and  expectation  became  breath 
less.  The  poor  old  white-haired  man  bent  toward 
him  with  a  helpless,  anxious  face,  and  the  two 
daughters  sat  pale  with  suspense,  their  eyes  riveted 
on  the  man  who  was  to  plead  for  the  life  of  their 
father. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury."  His  subdued  voice,  in 
which  a  slight  tremor  was  apparent,  made  deeper 
the  silence  of  the  hushed  court-room.  It  was  genuine 
emotion  that  came  thrilling  in  his  tones,  not  the  art 
of  the  pleader.  There  was  a  waiting  and  a  holding 
of  the  breath  for  his  next  words.  Turning  slowly, 
he  looked  at  the  old  man  and  at  the  two  white-faced 
women — his  daughters — and  stretching  out  a  hand 
toward  them,  said,  his  voice  still  lower  than  at  first: 
"The  most  sorrowful  thing  I  have  seen  in  this  court 
room  since  my  admission  to  the  bar}" 

There  is  no  form  of  words  by  which  to  convey  any 
true  conception  of  the  pity  and  deeply  moving  pathos 
that  were  in  his  voice. 

"The  most  sorrowful  thing,  gentlemen  of  the 
jury !"  turning  partly  round  to  the  jury-box.  "  I 
need  not  tell  you  what  it  means.  The  pitiful  story 


108  SA  VED 

has  been  fully  rehearsed.  You  know  it  all.  There 
was  once  an  honorable  merchant,  a  tender  husband, 
a  loving  father.  The  city  was  proud  of  him.  His 
name  was  the  synonym  for  high  integrity  and  gener 
ous  feeling.  His  home  was  the  dwelling-place  of  all 
sweet  affections.  But  an  evil  eye  fell  upon  the  mer 
chant  and  his  happy  home.  The  locust  and  the 
canker-worm  found  their  way  into  his  garden  of 
delight.  Leaf  withered  and  flower  faded,  and  sing 
ing  birds  departed.  Under  the  spell  of  this  evil  eye, 
the  generous  merchant  lost  his  wealth  and  his  fine 
sense  of  honor,  the  husband  his  tenderness  and  de 
votion,  the  father  his  love.  A  demon  had  taken 
possession  of  his  soul,  subsidizing  all  its  noble 
powers,  and  making  them  the  ministers  of  evil  in 
stead  of  good.  Shall  I  tell  you  the  name  of  this 
demon?" 

He  paused  for  a  few  moments.  Then  with  a  slow 
utterance  and  deep  impressiveness:  "  It  was  the 
demon  of  strong  drink!  You  all  know  him.  You 
cannot  walk  the  streets  of  this  great  city — this  Chris 
tian  city — without  feeling  his  hot  breath  strike  into 
your  faces  a  hundred  times  an  hour!  His  wretched 
victims  are  every  where  about  us;  and  the  homes  he 
has  ruined  may  be  counted  by  tens  of  thousands  all 
over  the  land.  Where  has  not  the  blight  of  his  foul 
breath  fallen  ?  "\Vhos3  home  is  free  from  the  curse 
of  his  presence? 

"  Look !"  He  turned  to  the  prisoner  and  his 
daughters.  "All  that  the  demon  has  left!  Ah, gen- 


"All  that  the  Demon  has  left."— Page  108. 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

tlemen !  he  is  a  pitiless  demon,  and  without  respect 
of  persons. 

"And  now  what  shall  I  say  for  my  poor,  unhappy 
client?  For  this  man  whom  the  devil  of  drink  has 
held  in  chains  for  these  many,  many  years,  and  made 
the  creature  of  his  infernal  will.  Who  wronged  arid 
beggared  his  family — the  man,  or  the  devil  that  was 
in  him  ?  The  man  was  kind,  and  tender,  and  loving. 
The  man  cared  for  his  wife  and  his  children,  and 
would  have  given  his  very  life,  if  need  be,  for  their 
safety.  Years  of  unselfish  devotion  to  those  he  loved 
bear  him  witness.  You  have  heard  the  testimony  of 
his  daughters;  and  I  think  your  eyes  must  still  re 
main  half-blinded  by  the  tears  with  which  their 
touching  story  filled  them.  No,  no !  It  was  not  the 
man  who  dealt  that  cruel  blow.  He  would  never 
have  laid  on  the  dear  and  precious  head  of  his  faith 
ful  wife  a  stroke  as  light  as  that  of  a  feather's  fall. 
It  was  the  devil  who  did  it,  and  not  the  man.  The 
devil  of  drink. 

"  No,  gentlemen !  You  cannot  find  the  man 
guilty  of  murder.  He  was  only  a  passive  instru 
ment,  with  no  more  responsibility  for  crime  than  the 
club  with  which  a  ruffian  fells  a  citizen,  or  the  pistol 
with  which  an.  assassin  does  his  fatal  work.  It  was 
the  devil  who  did  it.  Ah !  if  the  law  could  only 
reach  this  devil !" 

The  jury  retired  on  the  conclusion  of  Granger's 
plea,  and  were  not  out  for  half  an  hour.  The  evi 
dence  had  been  very  direct  and  clear.  The  prisoner 


SAVED 

had  developed  in  the  past  year  an  irritable  and  ma 
lignant  spirit,  and  would  grow  violent  and  threaten 
ing  when  his  wife  refused  him  money.  It  was 
proved  that  he  had  struck  her  several  times,  and 
that  she  had  once  carried  the  marks  of  a  blow  in 
her  face  for  many  weeks.  In  the  evidence  bearing 
on  the  cause  of  her  death,  it  was  shown  that  her 
husband  had  been  wrought  into  a  paroxysm  of 
insane  anger  by  her  refusal  to  give  him  money,  and 
that  in  his  blind  passion  he  had  knocked  her  down. 
The  blow  was  a  violent  one.  When  her  daughters, 
who  had  heard  the  heavy  fall  of  her  body,  reached 
the  room  and  attempted  to  lift  her  from  the  floor, 
she  was  dead. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  the  jury  came  in 
with  a  verdict  of  guilty  of  murder  in  the  second 
degree,  and  a  recommendation  to  mercy.  Granger 
had  remained  in  the  court-room  while  the  jury  was 
out,  taking  part  in  another  case  that  came  up  for 
trial.  I  saw  from  his  manner  that  a  strong  impres 
sion,  from  which  he  had  not  been  able  to  break  free, 
had  been  left  on  his  mind  by  the  incidents  of  the 
trial  just  closed.  The  two  daughters  of  the  prisoner 
remained  in  the  court-room,  waiting  for  the  verdict 
in  their  father's  case.  More  than  once  I  noticed 
Granger's  eyes  resting  upon  them  with  a  pitiful, 
almost  sad  expression.  Was  he  thinking  of  his  own 
daughter  and  their  mother,  and  of  the  demon  that 
might  desolate  their  home  and  drag  them  down  to 
a  fate  like  this  ? 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

When  the  verdict  came,  and  the  wretched  pris 
oner  was  removed,  under  a  sentence  of  three  years' 
incarceration  in  the  penitentiary,  I  saw  Mr.  Granger 
go  out  with  the  two  daughters,  who  moved  through 
the  crowd  with  bent  heads  and  slow,  uncertain  steps. 
What  a  heartache  the  sight  gave  me !  As  I  reached 
the  street,  I  observed  him  enter  a  carriage  with  them 
and  drive  away.  I  was  touched  by  his  considerate 
care  and  kindness. 

"Ah,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  if  he  will  but  take  this 
awful  lesson  to  heart,  and  cast  out  once  and  forever 
that  devil  of  drink  to  which  he  made,  a  little  while 
ago,  such  an  eloquent  and  telling  reference." 

I  felt  a  strong  hope  that  this  would  be  so.  That 
the  incidents  of  this  trial,  and  his  absorption  into  it 
as  counsel,  would  make  so  deep  an  impression  on 
Granger  as  to  cause  him  to  start  back  in  alarm  from 
the  brink  of  the  precipice  on  which  he  was  stand 
ing,  and  over  which  he  might  at  any  moment 
plunge.  That  he  had  been  strongly  moved  was  very 
evident.  It  was  not  possible  for  him  to  look  on  the 
wrecked  and  ruined  family  of  the  old  merchant,  or 
to  contemplate  the  awful  tragedy  which  had  been 
enacted,  without  a  shudder  at  the  thought  of  such  a 
catastrophe  reaching  his  own  home.  He  was  dally 
ing  with  the  devil  of  drink,  who  might  at  any  mo 
ment  bind  him  hand  and  foot,  as  he  had  once  before 
bound  him,  and  make  him  again  the  creature  of  his 
will. 

It  was  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  *WQ 


J14  SAVED 

days  after  the  trial,  that  I  was  informed  by  a  ser 
vant  that  a  lady  was  in  the  parlor  and  wished  to  sec 
me.  She  had  not  given  her  name.  On  going  down 
I  was  met  by  Mrs.  Granger.  I  saw  the  worst  at  a 
single  glance.  It  was  written,  alas !  too  plainly  in 
her  face. 

"  I  would  like  to  have  some  talk  with  you,  Mr. 
Lyon,"  she  said.  Her  voice  was  low  and  steady ; 
but  I  could  detect  an  under  thrill  of  feeling  held 
down  by  a  strong  effort. 

"  I  am  entirely  at  your  service,"  I  replied,  using 
the  first  form  of  speech  that  came  into  my  mind. 
"And  if  I  can  be  of  any  use  to  you,  command  me 
freely." 

"  You  know  about  my  husband."  The  firmness 
went  out  of  her  voice. 

"  What  about  him  ?"  I  had  neither  seen  him  nor 
heard  anything  in  regard  to  him  since  the  day  of 
the  trial. 

"  Haven't  you  heard  ?" 

"  Heard  what,  Mrs.  Granger  ?" 

"  That  he  has — "  She  could  not  finish  the  sen 
tence  ;  her  voice  breaking  in  a  sob,  that  was  followed 
by  a  low,  shivering  cry. 

"  I  am  pained  beyond  measure  to  hear  of  this," 
said  I.  "  How  long  has  it  been  ?" 

"It  has  been  coming  on  him  for  two  or  three 
months  past,  and  I've  been  in  awful  dread.  Little 
by  little,  day  by  day,  his  old  appetite  has  gained 
strength.  What  the  end  must  be,  I  knew  too  well." 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

"  I  saw  him  in  court  on  the  day  of  that  murder 
trial.  He  was  all  right  then." 

"  He  has  never  been  right  since.  It  was  late  in 
the  evening  before  he  came  home.  His  condition  I 
will  not  describe."  Tears,  in  large  drops,  were  fall 
ing  over  her  face. 

"  Has  he  been  to  his  office  since  ?" 

"  I  think  not,"  was  answered.  "  He  goes  out  in 
the  morning,  and  does  not  return  until  late  at  night. 
If  I  ask  him  a  question,  or  venture  a  word  of  remon 
strance,  he  gets  angry.  Oh  !  sir ;  this  must  not  go 
on.  I  am  helpless.  He  will  hear  nothing  and  bear 
nothing  from  me.  It  was  not  so  once.  But  you  are 
his  friend,  Mr.  Lyon.  He  has  great  respect  for  you; 
and  I  know  of  no  one  who  has  more  influence  over 
him." 

"Any  and  everything  in  my  power  shall  be  done," 
I  replied.  "  My  regret  is  that  I  did  not  know  of 
this  earlier."  I  let  more  of  hope  and  encouragement 
go  into  my  voice  than  I  really  felt. 

"  Oh  !  sir.  If  you  will  only  do  your  best  for  him." 
The  poor  wife  looked  at  me  with  a  pleading  face. 

"  Is  he  at  home  now  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  no,  no.  I  haven't  seen  him  since  morning, 
and  it  may  be  after  midnight  before  he  returns. 
Oh !  isn't  it  dreadful,  dreadful,  Mr.  Lyon,  the  way 
this  fearful  appetite  takes  hold  of  a  man  !  I  thought, 
when  he  told  me  about  that  poor,  old,  broken-down 
merchant,  who,  in  a  fit  of  drunken  insanity,  had 
killed  his  wife,  and  whom  he  had  to  defend  on  a 
8 


SAVED 

charge  of  murder,  that  he  would  take  the  terrihle 
lesson  to  heart.  The  case  had  drawn  largely  on  his 
sympathies,  and  his  pity  was  great  for  the  daughter? 
who  were  to  appear  in  court  and  give  evidence  that 
might  send  their  father  to  the  gallows.  I  have 
rarely  known  a  case  to  affect  him  so  much.  And  to 
think,  Mr.  Lyon,  that  he  should  go  from  this  trial, 
with  all  its  warning  incidents  fresh  in  his  mind, 
and  give  himself  into  the  power  of  the  very  agency 
which  had  wrought  so  fearful  a  ruin  that  the  very 
sight  of  it  sent  a  shudder  through  his  soul !  There 
is  something  awful  and  mysterious  in  all  this,  sir ! 
It  passes  my  comprehension." 

"  And  not  yours  only,  ma'am.  It  is  one  of  the 
dark  problems  men  find  it  difficult  to  explain.  Into 
all  hurtful  and  disorderly  things,  evil  forces  seem  to 
flow  with  an  intenser  life  than  into  things  innocent 
and  orderly.  There  is  violence,  aggression,  destruc 
tion  or  slavery  in  every  evil  agency.  And  it  is 
never  satisfied  under  any  limitation ;  it  must  have 
complete  mastery,  or  work  complete  ruin." 

"A  terrible  thought !"  Mrs.  Granger  shivered  as 
she  spoke. 

"Will  you  try  to  find  him  to-night?"  she  asked, 
a  moment  afterwards. 

"  Yes.     I  will  go  in  search  of  him  at  once." 

She  arose  to  depart. 

"Wait  for  a  moment;  I  will  see  you  home 
first." 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Lyon.     I'm  not  afraid.     Don't  lose 


[AS  BY  FIRE. 


117 


an  instant.     I  want  my  husband  found  as  soon  as 
possible." 

And  she  went  quickly  from  the  room,  passing  into 
the  street  before  I  could  make  another  effort  to  de 
tain  her. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CAST  OUT. 

I  WAS  not  successful  in  my  search  for  Mr.  Gran 
ger,  though  I  visited  many  of  the  principal 
saloons,  and  met  with  several  persons  who  knew 
him;  but  no  one  whom  I  questioned  had  seen  him 
during  the  night.  It  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock  when 
I  gave  up  the  search.  I  was  debating  with  myself 
whether  to  return  to  my  own  residence  or  to  go,  even 
at  this  late  hour,  and  ascertain  whether  he  were  at 
home  or  not,  when,  on  passing  a  small  court  in  which 
a  tavern  was  located,  a  sudden  sound  of  angry  voices 
struck  my  ears.  As  I  paused  I  saw  a  man  thrust  out 
of  this  tavern  with  violence.  lie  fell  with  a  dull, 
heavy  sound  on  the  pavement ;  and  was  kicked  as  he 
fell.  The  door  shut  in  an  instant  afterwards,  and  the 
man  was  left  to  all  appearance  unconscious  or  dead. 
I  found  a  policeman  in  the  next  block,  and  after 
giving  information  as  to  what  I  had  seen,  was  turn 
ing  to  leave  him,  when  he  detained  me,  saying  that 
if  the  man  had  received  any  serious  injuries  I  might 
be  wanted  as  a  witness.  I  took  out  a  card,  and  writ 
ing  my  address  on  it,  asked  if  that  were  sufficient. 
He  said  yes.  I  had  gone  from  him  for  only  a  few 
paeeg  when  the  possibility  that  the  man  I  hud  seen 
might  be  Granger  flashed  through  my  mind,  arrest- 
118 


'  He  fell  with  a  dull,  heavy  sound  on  the  pavement 
he  fell."— .- 


AS  BY  FIRE. 


121 


ing  my  steps,  and  causing  me  to  turn  about  and  hurry 
back  to  the  scene  of  the  outrage  of  which  I  had  been 
a  spectator.  The  policeman  was  trying  to  raise  the 
man  from  the  ground;  but  the  latter  was  either  so 
stupified  by  drink,  or  so  stunned  by  his  fall  on  the 
pavement,  as  to  be  unconscious  of  any  effort  to  arouse 
him.  What  was  my  pain  and  horror  to  see,  as  the 
face  was  turned  to  the  light,  the  features  of  Alexander 
Granger.  There  was  a  great  bruise  on  one  of  his 
temples  from  which  drops  of  blood  were  creeping 
out ;  and  his  mouth  was  swollen  as  from  a  blow,  and 
bleeding. 

By  this  time  two  or  three  men  had  come  out  of  the 
saloon ;  and  I  noticed  that  one  of  them,  on  seeing 
the  policeman,  dropped  quietly  from  the  court  and 
disappeared  around  the  corner.  The  others  assisted 
to  bear  the  unconscious  man  into  the  tavern.  It  was 
a  low,  vile  place ;  and  the  keeper  a  vicious-looking 
fellow,  in  whose  eyes  you  saw  the  cruel  instincts  of  a 
wild  beast.  He  it  was,  as  we  learned,  who  had  thrust 
Granger  out ;  but  he  denied  having  kicked  him  as 
he  fell.  The  cause  for  this  violence  was  a  drunken 
dispute.  An  argument  about  something  had  arisen, 
and  the  brutal  logic  of  the  bully  had  been  used 
against  the  lawyer,  who  was  too  much  under  the 
power  of  drink  for  prudent  self-restraint.  His  words 
had  been  answered  by  blows;  and  the  blows  had 
been  very  hard. 

A  physician  was  sent  for,  but  before  his  arrival, 
Granger  had  partially  regained  his  consciousness. 


122  SAVED 

An  examination  of  the  wound  on  his  head  showed 
nothing  very  serious.  His  mouth,  however,  had  he- 
come  dreadfully  swollen  ;  and  the  upper  lip  exhibited 
so  bad  a  cut  that  it  had  to  be  closed  with  a  few 
stitches  and  bands  of  adhesive  plaster. 

"  There's  a  very  sharp  pain  just  here,  doctor,"  said 
Granger,  after  the  lip  had  been  dressed,  placing  his 
hand  to  his  side  as  he  spoke.  "  I  wish  you'd  see 
what  it  means.  There's  something  wrong,  I'm 
afraid." 

"  Wrong !  I  should  think  there  was,"  replied  the 
doctor,  as  soon  as  he  had  made  an  examination. 
"  Here's  a  rib  broken  !" 

A  groan  escaped  the  lips  of  the  suffering  man. 
Increasing  pain  was  lifting  him  out  of  his  drunken 
stupor. 

"  He  had  better  be  taken  home  at  once,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  I  cannot  attempt  to  set  the  broken  bone 
here." 

"  Oh,  no.  Don't  take  me  home !"  Granger  an 
swered,  quickly.  "  The  station-house.  Anywhere. 
But  not  home."  His  countenance  was  strongly  agi 
tated. 

"  To  my  house,  then,"  I  said. 

"  No !  no !  no !  It's  considerate  of  you,  Mr.  Lyon, 
but  I  will  not  be  taken  into  any  gentleman's  house 
while  in  this  condition.  Why  can't  the  bone  be  set 
here?" 

"  For  reasons  I  will  not  attempt  to  explain,"  said 
the  doctor,  speaking  with  decision.  "  I  think,  sir," 


AS  BY  FIRE. 


123 


addressing  me,  "  that  you  had  hetter  order  a  carriage 
and  have  him  removed  to  his  own  house.  I  will 
accompany  you,  or  you  can  send  for  his  family  phy 
sician.  In  any  case,  take  him  home.  The  fracture 
is,  I  fear,  a  bad  one,  and  will  require  careful  treat 
ment." 

Another  groan  came  from  Granger's  lips.  "  If  I 
were  only  dead !"  he  ejaculated. 

A  carriage  was  sent  for.  While  waiting  for  it  to 
come,  Granger  sat  with  closed  eyes ;  his  face  now 
almost  deathly  pale,  and  with  beads  of  sweat  standing 
all  over  it.  He  made  no  resistance  when  the  carriage 
arrived,  and  entered  it  in  silence,  accompanied  by  the 
doctor,  a  policeman  and  myself. 

We  were  some  ten  or  twelve  blocks  from  his  resi 
dence,  and  it  took  over  twenty  minutes  to  make  the 
distance,  as  the  driving  had  to  be  very  slow.  When 
we  had  come  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  his 
dwelling,  he  asked  to  have  the  carriage  stopped  for 
a  few  minutes  until  I  could  go  and  break  the  news. 

Leaving  the  carriage,  I  went  rapidly  in  the  direc 
tion  of  his  house.  A  light  was  burning  in  one  of  the 
upper  windows.  What  should  I  say  ?  How  should 
I  break  this  news  to  his  poor,  waiting  wife  ?  As  I 
drew  near,  I  noticed  a  shadow  on  the  wall  of  the 
chamber  in  which  the  light  was  burning ;  a  moving 
shadow  as  of  one  restlessly  walking  the  floor.  As 
the  sound  of  my  hurrying  feet  broke  the  silence  I 
saw  the  shadow  grow  still  for  a  moment,  and  then 
quickly  disappear.  I  had  scarcely  rung  the  bell  ere 


124  SAVED 

the  door  was  drawn  swiftly  open,  and  Mrs.  Granger's 
pale,  almost  rigid  face  met  mine. 

"  Mr.  Granger !  What  of  him  ?  Oh  !  Mr.  Lyon, 
have  you  found  him  ?"  She  had  caught  hold  of  me 
in  her  eagerness  and  suspense. 

"  Yes,  yes.     I  have  found  him,"  I  replied. 

"  But  where  is  he  ?  Why  didn't  he  come  home 
with  you?" 

"  He  is  coming.  He  will  be  here  in  a  little  while," 
I  said,  trying  to  speak  in  a  voice  that  would  allay 
her  excitement. 

"  In  a  little  while!  What's  the  matter,  Mr.  Lyon  ? 
Don't  deceive  me!  Don't  keep  anything  back !  Am 
I  wanted?" 

I  felt  her  hand  close  on  my  arm  with  a  tight 
grip. 

"  No — no,  Mrs.  Granger.  You  are  frightened  for 
nothing.  You  are  not  wanted.  Your  husband  will 
be  home  in  a  few  minutes.  I  came  first  to  tell  you 
and  relieve  your  mind." 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  approaching  wheels 
was  heard. 

"Is  that  Mr.  Granger?"  she  asked,  her  face  as 
white  as  ashes. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied. 

I  saw  that  the  whole  truth  had  not  occurred  to  her. 
She  stood  still,  waiting  until  the  slow-moving  carriage 
was  at  the  door,  and  not  stirring  until  she  saw  the 
policeman  step  first  to  the  pavement.  Then  there 
was  a  start  and  a  repressed  cry.  Next  came 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

doctor,  and  then,  with  the  help  of  the  policeman. 
Granger  was  assisted  from  the  carriage.  It  was  too 
dark  for  his  wife  to  see  his  face  until  the  light  of  the 
entry-lamp  fell  upon  it  as  he  was  supported  up  the 
steps  to  the  door. 

She  did  not  faint,  nor  cry  out  in  wild  terror  as  she 
saw  that  bruised,  pain-stricken  face ;  but,  as  if  she 
had  received  a  blow,  staggered  back  a  step  or  two, 
but  quickly  recovered  herself,  coming  forward  and 
saying,  breathlessly,  and  in  a  hoarse  whisper : 
"  What  is  it  ?  "What's  the  matter  ?" 

"  Nothing  very  serious,"  the  doctor  answered. 
"  Your  husband  has  had  a  fall,  and  there's  a  rib 
broken.  But  he'll  be  all  right  in  a  short  time.  We 
must  get  him  up  to  his  own  room  with  as  little  delay 
as  possible." 

In  a  moment  all  signs  of  agitation  disappeared. 

"  This  way,"  said  the  wife,  calmly,  moving  back 
along  the  hall,  and  then  going  lightly  up-stairs  and 
leading  the  way  to  the  chamber  in  front.  How 
tender  and  pitiful  she  was  in  every  word  and  act ; 
yet  with  no  sign  of  weakness.  Love  and  duty 
had  lifted  her  into  a  sphere  of  calm  self-posses- 
eion. 

I  wondered  as  I  observed  her  that  night,  moving 
about  with  a  quiet,  almost  cheerful  bearing,  acting  in 
concert  with  the  doctor,  ministering  to  her  husband, 
giving  and  taking  directions  with  the  coolness  and 
self-poise  of  an  experienced  nurse,  what  it  meant  ? 
I  had  expected  a  painful  scene,  with  outbursts  of 


126  SAVED 

uncontrollable  mental  anguish;  and  my  surprise  was, 
therefore,  the  greater  at  what  I  saw. 

It  was  between  two  and  three  o'clock  before  I  left 
Mr.  Granger.  By  this  time  the  broken  bone  had 
been  properly  set,  and  he  was  not  only  free  from 
pain  but  sleeping  quietly. 

I  did  not  see  him  for  several  days,  though  I  made 
frequent  inquiries,  and  learned  that  he  was  doing 
well.  A  brief  notice  of  the  assault  from  which  he 
had  suffered  found  its  way  into  the  newspapers, 
but  his  name  was  not  mentioned.  No  effort  was 
made  to  arrest  and  punish  his  assailant,  for  that 
would  have  been  to  make  his  own  disgrace  pub 
lic. 

It  was  nearly  a  week  afterwards  t^at  I  received  a 
note,  asking  me  to  call  upon  him.  He  was  greatly 
changed,  and  looked  broken,  subdued  and  troubled. 
His  lip  was  still  considerably  swollen  and  very  sore. 
The  wound  had  not  healed  readily,  and  the  proba 
bilities  were  that  a  disfiguring  scar  would  be  left. 
He  held  my  hand  tightly  for  some  moments  before 
speaking. 

"I  want  to  have  another  talk  with  yon,  Lyon," 
he  said,  his  voice  trembling  a  little.  "  I  shall  be 
out  again  soon,  and  then—  He  stopped,  with  a 
strong  movement  of  feeling  in  his  face.  "  And  then? 
God  help  me,  Lyon !  Is  there  no  hope — no  escape— 
no  way  of  safety  ?" 

His  agitation  increased.  I  did  not  reply.  What 
could  I  say  ?  He  saw  the  doubt  in  my  face. 


A8  BY  FIRE.  127 

"  There  must  be  help  somewhere.  Men  are  saved 
from  this  curse." 

"  A  man  may  be  saved  from  any  evil  if  he  will," 
I  replied.  "  But  if  he  will  not,  as  I  have  said  to 
you  many  times,  even  God  cannot  save  him.  If  you 
had  kept  away  from  the  enemy's  ground,  he  could 
never  have  enslaved  you  again.  You  were  free  to 
pass  over  or  to  remain  within  the  lines  of  safety. 
Of  your  own  will  you  passed  over." 

"  Poor,  weak  fool !"  he  murmured,  bitterly.  "  Poor, 
silly  moth,  flying  into  the  candle !" 

"  Let  the  days  of  weakness  and  folly  pass  forever. 
Let  there  be  no  more  parleyings  with  the  enemy — 
no  more  venturing  upon  his  domain." 

He  shook  his  head  gloomily. 

"  Of  what  value  are  all  my  good  resolutions  ? 
Will  they  save  me  in  the  future  any  more  than  they 
have  saved  me  in  the  past  ?  Are  they  stronger  to 
day  than  they  were  last  year  or  the  year  before? 
There  must  be  something  more,  Mr.  Lyon.  Some 
thing  stronger  to  lean  on,  or  I  am  lost !" 

"  Lean  on  God,"  I  answered.  "  Look  to  Him." 

There  was  no  brightening  of  his  face. 

"  God  helps  those  who  try  to  get  free  from  the 
sin  that  doth  so  easily  beset  them." 

"  Does  He  ?  Haven't  I  tried  ?  Doesn't  He  know 
that  I  have  tried  ?  But  where  is  the  help  ?'' 

"  It  cannot  come  to  you  except  in  your  reasserted 
manhood  ;  and  it  will  come  if  you  stand  fast  in  that 
manhood.  God's  strength  will  be  your  strength." 


]28 


SAVED 


He  sighed  heavily. 

"  Mr.  Gross  was  here  yesterday,  and  I  had  a  long 
talk  with  him  about  the  New  York  Asylum  at  Bing- 
hampton.  He  thinks  very  favorably  of  the  course 
pursued  there,  and  spoke  of  several  cases  where 
patients  have  come  home  radically  cured.  He 
promised  to  send  me  the  last  report  of  the  superin 
tendent.  If  I  thought  any  good  would  come  of  it, 
I'd  drop  business  and  everything  else  and  go  under 
treatment  there." 

I  said  nothing  to  discourage  the  idea.  There 
might  be  influences  brought  to  bear  upon  him  at 
this  institution  which  would  help  to  give  him 
the  mastery  over  himself.  I  could  not  tell. 

At  a  subsequent  visit,  I  found  that  the  promised 
report  had  come  into  his  hands,  and  that  his  mind 
was  fully  made  up  to  leave  for  Binghampton  as  soon 
as  he  was  able  to  travel,  and  spend  as  long  a  time 
there  as  the  resident  physician  and  superintendent 
thought  his  case  required. 

"  It  is  a  disease,"  he  said,  as  we  talked  the  matter 
over ;  "  and  as  clearly  defined  as  any  other  disease ; 
and,  moreover,  as  subject  to  remedial  agencies.  The 
best  minds  in  the  medical  profession  have  given  to 
this  disease  a  most  careful  study,  and  it  is  known  what 
organs  are  affected  by  it,  and  the  exact  character  of 
the  affection.  Its  treatment  is  based  on  true  scien 
tific  and  pathological  principles,  and  so  conducted  as 
to  give  the  patient  a  just  knowledge  of  the  means 
whereby  he  may  retain  his  health  after  a  cure  has 


"  AS  BY  FIRE.  120 

been  made.  He  is  not  left  to  grope  in  the  dark, 
every  moment  in  danger  of  falling  over  some  unseen 
stumbling-block  which  may  have  been  cast  in  his 
way." 

I  did  not  share  in  the  new  hope  which  had  come 
to  Mr.  Granger,  but  was  careful  not  to  offer  a  word 
of  discouragement.  There  might,  as  I  have  said,  be 
influences  brought  to  bear  upon  him  at  the  asylum 
which  would  prove  lasting.  It  was  worth  the  trial 
at  least. 

And  the  trial  was  made.  Four  months  were  spent 
by  Mr.  Granger  at  the  institution  in  Binghampton, 
where  the  treatment  for  intemperance  as  a  disease 
was  at  the  time  up  to  the  highest  skill  and  intelli 
gence  of  the  medical  profession.  The  treatment 
was  moral  as  well  as  hygienic  and  sanatory.  The 
first  thing  gained  for  the  patient  was  his  removal 
from  the  tainted  atmosphere  of  common  society,  in 
which  are  perpetually  floating  the  germs  of  the  dis 
ease  from  which  he  was  suffering.  This  was  a  most 
important  gain,  for  it  took  him  out  of  the  region  of 
exciting  causes.  His  next  gain  was  in  the  sanatory 
care  and  treatment  given  by  the  institution  to  its 
patients,  through  which  a  steady  return  to  sound 
physical  health  was  secured.  Supplementing  this 
was  a  thoroughly  intelligent  hygienic  system,  through 
which  the  health  so  regained  was  steadily  improved 
and  strengthened. 

The  moral  and  religious  influences  under  which 
he  came  were  of  the  most  salutarv  kind.  Free  from 


130 

the  morbid  action  of  alcohol  on  the  brain,  his  intel 
lect  and  moral  perceptions  were  clear  once  more.  He 
could  see  and  feel  with  a  new  intensity  the  obliga 
tions  that  were  resting  upon  him  as  a  man,  and  the 
awful  responsibility  to  which  he  must  be  held  if  he 
did  not  keep  them.  There  was  a  quickening  of  his 
higher,  purer  and  better  feelings — of  honor,  and  a 
sense  of  duty — of  all  the  tender  social  affections. 
Love  for  his  wife  and  children,  and  shame  and 
sorrow  for  the  wrong  and  suffering  he  had  brought 
upon  them,  grew  deeper  and  deeper  as  the  cure  went 
on.  He  wrote  to  me  several  times  while  in  the  in 
stitution,  and  his  letters  were  of  the  most  satisfactory 
character.  He  had  gained  wonderfully  in  health, 
and  felt,  he  said,  no  desire  for  alcohol  whatever,  and 
was  sure  that  he  should  never  touch  it  again. 

In  the  first  letter  that  I  received  from  him,  he 
spoke  of  the  incidents  attendant  on  his  arrival  at 
the  institution.  I  give  a  portion  of  this  letter : 

"  On  the  second  day,"  he  wrote,  "  as  I  wa.s  sitting 
by  myself,  feeling  strange  and  ill  at  ease,  a  little,  old 
man,  with  a  large  head,  clear  blue  eyes,  and  a  kind, 
cheery  face,  came  into  the  parlor,  and  seeing  me, 
bowed  with  a  courtly  air,  and  said  a  pleasant '  Good 
morning.'  My  response  was  somewhat  cold  and 
distant,  for  I  was  greatly  depressed  in  spirits,  and 
could  not  rally  myself  on  the  instant.  He  passed 
through,  and  as  he  left  the  room  I  felt  my  heart 
going  out,  as  it  were,  after  him.  In  about  ten  min 
utes  he  came  back,  and,  drawing  a  chair,  sat  down 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

by  me,  with  the  remark,  'This  is  one  of  our  perfect 
days.  Have  you  noticed  the  peculiar  softness  of -the 
sky  ?'  I  tried  to  rouse  myself  to  meet,  in  a  becom 
ing  way,  his  kind  advances ;  but  did  it,  I  fear, 
almost  ungraciously.  It  was  only  a  little  while, 
however,  before  the  frank  and  genial  warmth  of  his 
manner  had  completely  won  me,  and  I  found  my 
self  talking  with  him  as  with  a  pleasant  friend. 
Almost  before  I  knew  it,  he  had  led  me  to  speak  of 
myself,  and  of  my  past  life.  There  was  about  him 
something  that  inspired  confidence.  I  felt  that  no 
idle  sentiment  of  curiosity,  but  a  genuine  interest 
in  my  welfare,  had  drawn  him  towards  me,  and  that 
he  was  seeking  to  gain  my  friendly  feelings,  that 
he  might  do  me  good.  He  had  not  spoken  half  a 
dozen  sentences  before  I  recognized  in  him  a  man 
of  culture,  and  saw  in  his  bearing  the  true  grace  of 
a  courtly  gentleman.  It  was  not  long  before  we 
were  walking  the  floor  of  the  parlor,  his  arm  drawn 
within  that  of  mine,  deeply  engaged  in  a  conversa 
tion,  which  we  kept  up  for  over  an  hour.  At  its 
close,  I  felt  that  I  had  found  a  new  friend,  as  it  has 
proved,  for  this  quiet,  intelligent,  refined  and  gen 
tlemanly  old  man  is  none  other  than  our  chaplain." 
Again  he  wrote :  "  In  Dr.  Bush,  our  chaplain, 
about  whom  I  spoke  in  one  of  my  letters,  we  have 
a  man  of  rare  fitness  for  the  office  he  holds  in  this 
institution.  I  never  pass  an  hour  with  him  without 
feeling  stronger  for  the  interview.  He  said  to  me, 
a  day  or  two  ago,  '  In  God  and  good  health  lie  your 


132 

only  help  and  sure  dependence.  You  must  keep 
the  body  sound,  avoid  all  dangers,  and  take  no  risks. 
"With,  regular  living,  and  healthy  surroundings,  and 
a  mind  full  of  faith  and  hope  in  spiritual  realities, 
this  sad  disorder,  with  which  you  have  been  afflicted, 
will,  in  time,  die  out.'  In  his  unobtrusive  and  wise 
way,  he  moves  about  among  the  patients,  holding 
them  in  conversation  by  such  themes  as  touch  their 
tastes  and  habits  of  thinking  most  readily ;  but  al 
ways  at  some  point  turning  their  thoughts  to  spir 
itual  things,  and  pointing  them  to  Christ  as  their 
surest  refuge.  He  has  great  influence  over  all  who 
are  here,  and  there  are  some  who  appear  to  rest  on, 
and  cling  to  him  as  if  all  the  strength  they  were 
receiving  actually  came  through  his  agency.  The 
more  I  see  and  know  of  him,  and  the  more  I  talk 
with  him,  the  stronger  grows  my  conviction,  that 
the  saving  power  of  the  work  that  is  being  done 
here  is  largely  due  to  the  influence  this  good  man 
has  with  the  inmates." 

In  a  letter  written  nearly  two  months  after  he 
entered  the  asylum,  Mr.  Granger  said : 

"  I  had  a  long  talk  with  our  chaplain  yesterday, 
and  he  related  many  deeply  interesting  incidents 
connected  with  his  office  in  the  institution.  He  has 
a  large  correspondence,  I  find,  with  persons  who 
have  been  patients  here ;  and  his  influence  with 
many  of  them  is  still  very  strong.  He  encourages 
them  to  write  to  him  freely,  and  to  tell  him  about 
their  surroundings  and  peculiar  trials  and  tempta- 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  133 

tions,  in  order  that  he  may  send  helpful  advice  and 
wise  counsel,  if  there  should  be  need  therefor.  I 
notice  that  while  he  speaks  minutely  of  cases,  he 
rarely  mentions  names.  But  I  refer  to  him  now 
because  of  some  things  which  he  said  that  reminded 
me  of  a  conversation  I  had  with  you.  The  line  of 
thought  he  pursued  was  very  similar  to  yours, 
though  some  of  his  premises  and  conclusions  were 
different.  '  All  of  our  power  to  resist  temptation 
and  to  live  true  and  orderly  lives,'  he  said,  '  comes 
from  God.  The  gift  of  strength  is  from  above; 
the  will  to  use  it  lies  within  ourselves.  If  we  will 
not  use  this  strength,  God  cannot  help  us  in  times 
of  difficulty,  nor  save  us  in  times  of  danger.  But, 
into  our  right  endeavor,  if  it  be  resolutely  made, 
will  come  a  divine  power  that  shall  enable  us  to 
stand  as  a  rock,  though  the  floods  of  temptation 
beat  never  so  strongly  against  us.  And  here,  my 
friend,'  he  added,  laying  his  hand  upon  me,  and 
speaking  with  great  earnestness,  '  let  me  impress 
upon  you  this  thought,  that  it  is  only  in  the  main 
tenance  of  true  order  in  our  natural  and  physical 
lives  that  we  come  into  such  a  relation  to  spiritual 
laws  and  forces  that  they  can  protect  and  save  us. 
A  true  spiritual  life  cannot  be  established  in  any 
one  so  long  as  his  natural  life  remains  in  disorder. 
If  you  want  God's  help  in  the  new  life  you  are  now 
living,  you  must,  while  asking  spiritual  aid,  do  your 
part  in  the  work  of  establishing  sound  physical 
health.  Praying  will  avail  nothing  if  you  do  not 
9 


134  SAVED 

tli is  also.  When  you  go  away  from  here  you  must 
make  it  a  religious  duty  to  avoid  over-strain  in  your 
work,  and  the  consequent  nervous  exhaustion  that 
will  surely  follow.  All  the  laws  of  physical  and 
moral  health  must  be  strictly  observed;  and  you 
must  be  especially  watchful  lest  you  get  over,  una 
ware,  upon  the  enemy's  ground.  Tf  duty  calls  you 
there,  go  with  armor  and  sword,  and  you  will  find 
no  armor  so  impenetrable,  and  no  sword  so  keen  and 
effective,  as  the  armor  of  God's  Holy  Word,  and 
the  truths  that  lie  sheathed  in  its  precious  sentences. 
Use  these  when  the  tempter  assaults  you,  and  he 
will  turn  and  flee.'  You  can  see  how  good  and 
helpful  all  this  is.  '  Eight  thinking  is  one  of  the 
surest  ways  to  right  acting,'  we  often  hear  him  say. 
'  If  men  would  go  right,  they  must  know  right,'  is 
another  of  his  apt  sentences.  And  he  never  tires 
in  his  efforts  to  supplement  the  medical,  social,  san 
atory  and  moral  agencies  of  cure  that  are  so  effect 
ive  in  many  cases  under  treatment  here,  with  the 
soundest  common  sense  advice,  and  the  tenderest, 
most  heart-searching  and  deeply  solemn  ministra 
tions  of  a  devoted  spiritual  friend  and  teacher." 

At  the  end  of  three  months,  Granger  considered 
his  cure  so  complete  that  he  wished  to  return  home 
and  resume  the  practice  of  his  profession,  which  was 
suffering  greatly  on  account  of  his  absence.  In  this 
he  was  opposed  by  the  superintendent,  who  urged 
him  to  remain  longer ;  in  fact,  not  to  think  of  leav 
ing  the  institution  until  he  had  remained  there  for 


AS  BY  FIRE.  135 

at  least  six  months.  The  superintendent  understood 
his  case  better  than  he  understood  it  himself,  and 
knew  that  he  was  very  far  from  being  cured.  Treat 
ing  intemperance  as  a  disease  of  the  physical  organ 
ism,  manifesting  itself  in  a  species  of  moral  insanity, 
and  understanding  enough  of  the  pathology  of 
drunkenness  to  know  that  it  wrought  changes  of 
condition  of  singular  permanency,  and  left  a  most 
remarkable  sensitiveness  to  exciting  causes,  he  un 
derstood  the  great  value  of  time  in  the  work  of 
strengthening  the  system,  so  that  it  might,  when 
exposed  to  assault,  be  able  to  resist  the  encroach 
ments  of  disease.  But  he  was  not  able  to  induce 
Mr.  Granger  to  remain  at  the  institution  for  a  longer 
time  than  four  months. 

I  met  him  noon  after  his  return  home.  .  Four 
months  under  the  new  influences  to  which  he  had 
been  subjected  had  wrought  in  him  a  marked 
change.  I  had  never  seen  him  in  better  physical 
health.  His  eyes  were  strong  and  bright,  his  com 
plexion  clear,  his  muscles  round  and  tense.  You 
saw  that  life,  mental  and  physical,  had  gained  a 
higher  strength. 

"  I'm  a  new  man,  Lyon,"  said  he,  confidently,  as 
he  grasped  my  hand  at  our  first  meeting.  ;<  A  new 
man,"  he  repeated,  "  morally,  mentally  and  physi 
cally.  The  lost  has  been  found ;  the  sick  man  re 
stored  to  health ;  the  dead  is  alive  again." 

There  was  a  certain  overglow  of  enthusiasm  about 
him  to  which  I  could  not  heartily  respond.  He 


13G  SAVED 

observed  this,  saying :  "  Wait  and  see,  my  friend. 
This  isn't  the  old,  sick,  miserable  body  that  I  took 
away,  with  its  relaxed  pores  standing  open  to  drink  in 
every  disease  that  floated  in  the  air.  Here  is  healthy 
blood,  and  firm  flesh,  and  high  vital  action;  and 
what  is  more,  reason  and  will  have  regained  strength 
and  dominion.  I  have  found  my  lost  manhood." 

"And  may  God  give  you  the  strength  to  keep  it," 
I  made  answer,  speaking  from  a  conviction  which  I 
could  not  repress,  that  only  in  God's  help  was  there 
any  sure  hope  for  this  man. 

"  He  has  given  it  already,"  he  replied.  "And  I 
am  taking  it  and  using  it.  He  is  always  giving ; 
and  we  faint  and  fall  by  the  way  only  because  we 
do  not  take  of  the  measure  we  need.  This  is  your 
doctrine,  I  believe,  Mr.  Lyon." 

"  Yes,"  I  returned,  but  not  with  any  heartiness  of 
manner. 

"  Not  skeptical  here,  I  trust,"  said  Granger,  with 
a  slight  lifting  of  his  eyebrows. 

"  No.  All  our  strength  must  come  from  God.  In 
Him  we  live  and  move  and  have  our  being.  The 
only  question  is,  how  are  we  to  get  this  strength  ? 
And  I  will  confess  to  you,  Mr.  Granger,  that  my 
mind  is  not  so  well  settled  on  this  point  as  it  was  a 
year  or  two  ago.  I  had  great  faith  in  a  man's  will 
then.  It  is  weaker  now.  And,  if  I  must  say  it, 
out  of  your  experience  has  come  many  of  my  doubts 
and  questionings." 

'Indeed."     A  shade  of  surprise  in  his  manner. 


AS  BY  FIRE.  137 

"  You  remember  that  turning  over  of  a  new  leaf 
a  long  time  ago,  and  what  Mr.  Stannard  said  to  you 
in  regard  to  the  writing  thereon  ?  About  the  '  I 
will  not,'  and  '  By  the  help  of  God  ?'  " 

"Yes." 

"And  how  I  said  that  we  received  God's  help 
only  when  we  made  an  effort  to  do  the  right.  That 
His  strength  flowed  then  into  our  endeavor,  and 
only  then  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  you  said  the  truth." 

"  But  you  did  not  find  it  so,  Mr.  Granger." 

A  deeper  shade  of  surprise  on  his  face.  "  I  did 
not  use  the  strength.  That  was  all." 

"Why  not?" 

"  The  will  failed,  I  suppose." 

"Ah !  There  it  is.  The  will  to  take  the  strength 
was  lacking." 

"  Yes."  A  falling  away  from  its  firmness  in  his 
voice. 

"  I've  thought  a  great  deal  about  this  in  the  last 
few  months,  Granger,  and  I'm  afraid  there's  some 
error  in  my  reasoning  about  God's  ways  with  man. 
That  in  our  efforts  to  do  right,  or  resist  evil,  a  divine 
strength  sufficient  for  our  day  will  not  always  come. 
It  seems  to  me  that  it  ought  to  come ;  but  does  it 
come  ?  What  is  your  experience  ?" 

"  I  have  had  the  strength  to  resist,  as  you  know, 
and  have  stood  in  that  strength  for  long  periods  of 
time,"  he  answered. 

"  True ;  but  it  failed  at  last.     Now  God's  power 


138  SAVED 

should  never  fail ;  and  I  have  a  conviction  that  it 
never  does  fail.  What  then  ?" 

He  did  not  answer  me. 

"  There  is  one  sphere  of  safety  into  which  I  think 
it  will  be  wise  for  you  to  come,"  said  I. 

"What  is  that?"  he  asked. 

"  The  sphere  of  the  church." 

There  was  no  warm  response  in  his  face. 

"  So  far  as  my  observation  goes,"  he  replied, 
"  church  people  are  no  better  than  others." 

"  More  the  shame  for  them,"  I  answered.  "  But  it 
is  possible  that  your  observation  in  this  direction 
lias  been  limited." 

"  Well,  as  you  know,  I've  never  taken  much  to 
religion.  I'm  not  one  of  that  kind.  I  go  to  church 
with  my  wife  occasionally,  but  never  get  much  in 
terested.  Now  and  then  I  hear  a  sermon  that  sets  me 
to  thinking;  but,  for  the  most  part,  I  find  it  dull  work." 

"  I  inferred,  from  some  things  said  in  your  letters, 
that  you  had  become  deeply  impressed  with  the 
value  and  necessity  of  divine  help,"  said  I.  "  Did 
not  Mr.  Bush,  the  chaplain  of  whom  you  spoke  so 
warmly,  urge  you  to  join  some  church,  and  to  come 
within  the  sphere  of  its  saving  influences  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  He  spoke  to  me  with  great  earnest 
ness  on  this  very  subject.  But  a  man  may  trust  in 
God,  even  though  he  be  not  a  church  member. 
Christianity  means  justice,  and  honor,  and  right 
living ;  and  I  find  as  much  of  this  outside  as  inside 
of  the  churches." 


AS  BY  FIRE.  139 

"  The  Church,"  I  replied,  "  has  been  established 
by  God.  It  is  His  kingdom  on  the  earth ;  and  its 
laws  are  divine  truths  revealed  to  us  in  Scripture. 
These  laws,  as  you  know,  are  very  pure,  and  based 
on  love  to  God  and  the  neighbor.  It  is  nothing 
against  the  Church  that  some  of  its  members  do 

O 

not  comprehend  the  spirit  and  meaning  of  its  laws; 
nor  live  in  a  true  conformity  thereto ;  and  nothing 
against  its  power  to  protect  us  from  evil,  if  we  come 
within  the  sphere  of  its  influence." 

"  You  may  be  right  in  all  that,  Mr.  Lyon ;  are 
right,  no  doubt ;  and  I  intend  going  to  church  with 
my  family  more  regularly  than  heretofore." 

"  Do  so  by  all  means.  I  had  a  long  talk  with  Mr. 
Stannard  only  last  week  on  this  very  subject  of 
church-going ;  and  one  or  two  things  that  he  said 
have  made  a  strong  impression  on  my  mind." 

"  Mr.  Stannard  is  one  of  the  best  men  I  ever  knew. 
If  all  professing  Christians  squared  their  lives  by 
their  doctrines  as  he  does,  Christianity  would  mean 
something,"  remarked  Granger.  "  What  did  he  say?" 

"  If  for  no  other  reason,  he  said,  we  should  go 
to  church  to  hear  the  reading  of  the  Bible." 

"  We  may  read  the  Bible  at  home,  if  we  will," 
Granger  replied. 

"  True  ;  if  we  will,"  I  returned. 

"  And,  then,"  he  rejoined,  "  you  know  one  may 
read  the  Bible  every  day,  and  a  dozen  times  a  day 
for  that  matter,  and  it  will  do  him  no  good  unless  he 
obey  its  precepts." 


140  SA  VED 

"  A  knowledge  of  the  law  must  go  before  obedi 
ence.  This  is  as  true  of  divine  as  of  human  laws. 
But  I  wish  to  bring  to  your  attention  one  or  two 
things  said  by  Mr.  Stannard  in  regard  to  the  power 
of  Holy  Scripture,  and  the  sphere  of  safety  into 
which  it  must  bring  every  one  who  receives  it  into 
his  thought  reverently,  and  lets  it  dwell  there.  They 
were  new  to  me.  Being  the  Word  of  God,  the  pre 
sence  of  any  portion  thereof  in  the  thought,  must, 
he  said,  bring,  in  a  certain  sense,  God  within  us,  and 
consequently  nearer  with  His  divine  power  to  the 
enemies  of  our  souls  who  are  ever  seeking  to  gain 
dominion  over  us  ;  so  enabling  Him  to  fight  in  and 
for  us  by  the  power  of  His  Word." 

Granger  sat  reflecting  on  this  for  a  considerable 
time. 

"If  that  be  so,"  he  said,  at  length,  "there  is  a 
saving  power  in  the  Bible  beyond  what  1  had 
thought." 

"  And  a  use  in  going  to  church  beyond  what  you 
and  1  had  imagined." 

"  Yes." 

"  For  the  reading  of  the  Bible  makes  up  a  portion 
of  the  services,  and  the  sphere  of  reverence  and 
attention  which  we  find  in  worshipping  assemblies 
adjusts  the  mind  to  hearing  and  opens  it  to  deeper 
impressions.  The  Word  gets  a  firmer  hold  upon 
us  and  remains  longer  with  us.  We  take  it 
away  in  our  memories;  and  when  in  temptation, 
can  bring  it  out  therefrom  as  a  weapon — the 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

sword  of  the  Spirit — with  which  to  fight  our 
enemies. 

"Mr.  Stannard  said,"  I  continued,  "that  God's 
Holy  Word  is  sufficient  for  us  under  any  circum 
stances  of  temptation;  and  that  we  have  only  to 
resist  the  devil  as  our  Saviour  resisted  when  led  of 
him  into  the  wilderness  to  be  tempted,  and  he  will 
depart  from  us." 

"  How  did  He  resist  ?"  asked  Mr.  Granger. 

"  By  the  utterance  of  truth  from  Scripture;  and 
the  power  of  this  Divine  Word  was  so  great  that  the 
devil  could  not  stand  before  it." 

"  Yes,  that  is  so.  '  It  is  written/  was  the  Lord's 
answer.  I  never  thought  of  its  meaning  before." 

"  In  the  very  way  that  strength  for  victory  came  to 
Him  as  He  met  the  hosts  of  hell  on  the  plane  of  His 
infirm  human  nature,  will  it  come  to  us  and  give  us 
the  victory  also,  said  Mr.  Stannard.  From  this  view 
of  the  case,  the  value  of  public  worship  is  evident, 
and  I  am  sure,  Mr.  Granger,  that  you  will  stand  safer 
within  than  without  the  sphere  of  the  church." 

"  You  may  be  right,"  he  answered.  "  Nay,  I  am 
sure  you  are  right.  I  must  see  Mr.  Stannard  and 
have  a  talk  with  him.  He  is  one  of  the  men  in 
whom  I  believe." 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  FLOODS  RISING. 

FOR  awhile  Granger  went  regularly  to  church ; 
but  after  a  few  months  his  place  in  the  family 
pew  was  often  vacant. 

"  I  don't  see  you  at  church  as  much  as  usual,"  said 
I,  on  meeting  him  one  day. 

"  "Well — no,"  he  replied,  speaking  with  some  hesi 
tation  of  manner,  "and  I  don't  know  that  I've  any 
valid  excuse  for  staying  away.  But,  the  fact  is, 

Mr. is  so  intolerably  dull  and  prosy,  I  get  tired 

to  death.  He  doesn't  seem  to  think  at  all ;  but  just 
to  open  his  mouth  and  let  what  happens  to  be  in  his 
memory  come  out.  Old  stereotyped  forms  of  speech, 
and  sentences  that  mean  anything  or  nothing  as  you 
choose  to  interpret  them,  make  up  the  staple  of  his 
sermons.  You  don't  get  an  advanced  idea  from  him 
once  in  a  month." 

"  Go  somewhere  else.  To  hear  Mr.  -  — ,  for  in 
stance.  But  don't  stay  away  from  church." 

"  I've  been  to  hear  Mr.  -  -  a  number  of  times. 
But  one  tires  of  mere  picture-painting,  though  the 
artist  have  rare  skill  in  his  line.  lie  says  many 
beautiful  things  in  an  eloquent  way ;  and  so  do  the 
orators  and  the  poets.  But  a  poor,  tired  and  tempted 
soul  will  get  little  help  from  his  preaching.  It  u 
142 


AS  BY  FIRE.  143 

pleasing  and  popular ;  but  after  that  is  said,  about  all 
is  said.  Ah,  my  friend !"  his  brows  drew  closely 
together,  and  his  voice  fell  to  a  serious  tone,  "  your 
churches  and  your  preaching  are  all  well  enough  for 
easy-going,  good  sort  of  people,  with  a  kind  of 
natural  heavenward  drift ;  but  they  don't  do  much  in 
the  way  of  getting  hold  of  us  restless,  challenging, 
hardened  fellows,  who  want  to  know  about  the  reason 
of  things;  and  who,  unhappily,  are  in  the  drag  of  a 
current  that  is  bearing  us  down,  down,  down,  it  may 
be,  to  eternal  ruin  !" 

There  came  a  stern,  almost  angry  expression  into 
his  face. 

"You  mustn't  feel  in  that  way  Granger.  It  isn't 
good.  The  preachers  may  not  be  all  we  could  wish; 
but  they  are,  for  the  most  part,  sincere  men,  and  in 
the  effort  to  do  the  best  they  can  for  the  salvation  of 
souls." 

"Oh,  yes.  No  doubt  of  it.  But  it  rarely  happens 
that  I  find  one  who  can  feed  my  hunger." 

Was  it  his  own  fault  or  the  fault  of  the  preacher  ? 
Was  he  not  hungering  again  for  the  flesh-pots  of 
Egypt,  and  loathing  the  manna  and  the  quails  ?  I 
had  my  fears.  What  had  been  done  for  him  during 
his  four  months  at  the  asylum  ?  It  was  a  question  of 
momentous  interest.  Had  there  been  a  cure,  or  only 
a  temporary  suspension  of  diseased  action  ?  Did  he 
not  stand  in  as  much  danger  to-day  as  before  he 
placed  himself  under  treatment?  WTas  not  his  fall 
again  only  a  matter  of  time? 


144  SA  VED 

These  questions  pressed  themselves  on  my  mil  I 
and  gave  me  much  concern.  Think  as  closely  and 
as  earnestly  as  I  could  on  the  subject,  I  was  not  able 
to  see  wherein  lay  his  immunity.  He  was  back 
once  more  in  an  atmosphere  tainted  with  disease. 
Predisposition  had  not  been  eradicated,  and  old 
exciting  causes  were  acting  again.  As  time  went 
on,  and  the  fine  health  he  had  brought  home  with 
him  from  the  asylum  gave  place  to  the  exhausted 
nervous  condition  which  is  sure,  sooner  or  later,  to 
follow  excessive  devotion  to  business,  would  not  the 
old  hunger  for  stimulants  arouse  itself  and  become 
irresistible  ? 

The  more  I  considered  this  view  of  the  case,  the 
more  my  concern  increased ;  and  I  felt  that  some 
thing  far  more  radical  must  be  done  for  Granger 
than  had  yet  been  accomplished,  ere  his  reform  was 
a  thing  assured.  His  drifting  away  from  church  in 
fluences  was,  I  feared,  only  an  indication  of  the 
awakening  of  old  desires,  and  the  turning  of  his 
thoughts  downward  to  the  things  in  which  they  had 
once  found  gratification. 

I  was  much  relieved  on  the  Sunday  following  to 
see  Grange"  in  church.  He  sat  for  most  of  the  time 
during  the  services  in  an  attentive  attitude ;  and  it 
struck  me  that  his  manner  was  unusually  subdued 
and  serious.  I  noticed  that  while  a  particular  lesson 
from  Scripture  was  read,  that  his  eyes  were  not 
taken  from  the  clergyman  for  a  single  moment.  It 
was  the  one  hundred  and  twenty-first  Psalm:  "I 


AS  BY  FIXE.  145 

will  lift  up  my  eyes  unto  the  hills,  from  whence 
cometh  my  help.  My  help  cometh  from  the  Lord, 
which  made  heaven  and  earth.  He  will  not  suffer 
thy  foot  to  be  moved  :  he  that  keepeth  thee  will  not 
slumber.  Behold,  he  that  keepeth  Israel  shall 
neither  slumber  nor  sleep.  The  Lord  is  thy  keeper: 
the  Lord  is  thy  shade  upon  the  right  hand.  The 
sun  shall  not  smite  thee  by  day,  nor  the  moon  by 
night.  The  Lord  shall  preserve  thee  from  all  evil : 
He  shall  preserve  thy  soul.  The  Lord  shall  pre 
serve  thy  going  out  and  thy  coming  in  from  this 
time  forth,  and  even  forever  more." 

Other  passages  read  or  chanted  during  the  ser 
vices,  seemed  as  if  especially  designed  to  meet  his 
case,  and  lead  him  to  put  a  higher  trust  in  God. 
"  They  that  trust  in  the  Lord  shall  be  as  Mount 
Zion,  which  cannot  be  removed,  but  abideth  forever. 
As  the  mountains  are  round  about  Jerusalem,  so  the 
Lord  is  round  about  His  people  from  henceforth 
even  forever."  "  The  Lord  is  nigh  unto  all  them 
that  call  upon  Him,  to  all  that  call  upon  Him 
in  truth.  He  will  fulfil  the  desire  of  them  that 
fear  Him :  He  also  will  hear  their  cry,  and  will 
save  them."  "  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children, 
so  the  Lord  pitieth  them  that  fear  Him.  For  He 
knoweth  our  frame ;  He  remembereth  that  we  are 
dust." 

I  did  not  get  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  Granger 
after  church,  but  I  was  struck  with  the  seriousness 
of  his  lace  as  he  passed  along  the  aisle.  His  eyes 


146  SA  VED 

were  cast  down,  and  he  did  noi;  notice  any  one  as  he 
moved  with  the  crowd. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Granger's  case?"  I  asked 
of  Mr.  Stannard,  not  long  after  this. 

"  I  greatly  fear  for  him,"  was  replied. 

"He  has  kept  himself  straight  since  his  return 
from  the  asylum." 

"  Yes  ;  but  the  saving  power  of  such  institutions 
has  its  limits.  They  are  good  as  far  as  they  go,  and 
have  helped  to  restore  many  men  to  good  citizenship. 
I  say  nothing  against  them.  I  wish  their  number 
were  increased.  But  there  are  cases  in  which  they 
rarely,  if  ever,  make  permanent  cures ;  and  Gran 
ger's  is  one  of  them.  The  appetite  for  drink  has 
taken  too  deep  a  hold.  For  him,  I  fear,  there  is  no 
help  in  man.  Only  God  can  save  him;  and  if  he 
does  not  go  to  God,  humbly  and  prayerfully,  his 
case  is  next  to  hopeless." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  take  so  gloomy  a  view  of  the 
matter,  Mr.  Stannard.  Will  not  God  help  him  un 
less  he  pray  to  Him  ?" 

"  Can  He  help  him  if  he  does  not?" 

"  I  don't  know.  There's  something  just  here  that 
I  do  not  clearly  understand." 

"  Can  a  mother  feed  her  babe,  though  her  breast 
be  full,  if  it  turn  its  mouth  away  ?  It  may  be  faint 
ing  with  hunger,  and  the  mother's  heart  may  be  full 
of  love  and  pity,  but  if  it  will  not  touch  the  paps 
what  can  she  do  ?  Prayer  is  not  an  arbitrary  ser 
vice,  but  an  attitude  of  the  soul.  A  simple  turning 


AS  BY  FIRE.  147 

of  the  spirit,  conscious  of  its  own  weakness  and  sin- 
fulness,  to  the  source  of  all  goodness  and  strength, 
and  accepting  what  God  is  ever  seeking  to  give ;  but 
which  He  can  only  give  to  those  who  truly  desire 
to  receive.  God  is  always  coming  to  us  and  seeking 
to  save  us ;  but  unless  we  turn  to  Him,  and  look  to 
Him,  our  rescue  is  impossible.  It  is  in  ourselves 
that  we  are  lost ;  and  if  we  will  not  come  out  of 
ourselves,  wherein  are  all  our  pains  and  desolations, 
how  can  God  save  us  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  The  way  ought  to  be  made  very 
plain  and  easy." 

"It  is  plain  and  easy.  Only  to  turn  from  self  to 
God.  Only  to  take  the  hand  that  is  forever  reaching 
down.  Only  to  ask  and  receive,"  Mr.  Stannard  re 
plied.  "  God  cannot  give  to  those  who  will  not  take." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  all  doubtless  true.  But  how  shall  one 
turn  from  self  to  God  ?  How  grasp  the  hand  that 
is  forever  reaching  down?  How  take  what  God 
perpetually  desires  to  give  ?" 

"  Only  when  a  man  feels  that  in  and  of  himself 
he  can  do  nothing,  and  that  unless  help  come  from 
above  he  must  perish,  can  he  really  turn  from  self 
to  God.  Before  that  he  trusts  in  his  own  strength ; 
and  so  long  as  he  does  this,  divine  strength  cannot 
be  given." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Can  a  man  use  what  he  will  not  take  ?  So  long 
as  one  trusts  in  himself,  he  does  not  use  the  strength 
of  another." 


148 

"And  so,  until  a  man  feel  this  utter  helpless 
ness,  God  will  not  reach  down  and  save  him  ?"  said  I. 

"  Of  what  avail  is  God's  offered  hand  if  the  man 
wiH  not  take  it  ?  Of  God's  strength  if  the  man  will 
not  use  it?  Not  until  he  is  in  utter  despair  of  him 
self  does  he  really  accept  help  from  above.  Until 
then  he  trusts  to  an  arm  of  flesh,  and  not  to  the  all- 
conquering  and  all-sustaining  power  of  God.  In 
the  very  moment  that  a  man  comes  into  this  state 
of  despair  and  lifts  thought  and  desire  heavenward, 
he  prays  effectually ;  takes  hold  of  God ;  gets  his 
feet  upon  a  rock;  comes  within  the  sphere  of  Divine 
protection ;  is  saved  from  the  power  of  his  enemies. 
Forever  saved  ?  Yes,  if  he  keeps  his  hold  upon  God 
and  remains  within  the  sphere  of  His  divine  pro 
tection.  How  shall  he  maintain  this  hold?  Only 
through  steady  looking  and  right  living.  He  must 
cease  to  do  evil,  and  learn  to  do  well.  Must  make 
the  laws  of  God  the  laws  of  his  life.  If  this  be  not 
done  God  cannot  make  him  to  dwell  in  safety." 

"  For  a  man  like  Granger,  you  think,  there  is  no 
eecurity  but  in  the  church  ?" 

"  Unless  he  dwell  in  God,  he  cannot  dwell  secure  ; 
and  the  church  is  God's  kingdom  on  the  earth." 

"Does  not  Scripture  r>ay  that  the  kingdom  of 
God  is  within  us  ?" 

"Yes.  God's  kingdom  is  a  spiritual  kingdom, 
and  can  have  no  real  existence  but  in  the  souls  of 
men.  But  it  is  internal  and  external,  because  man 
w  internal  and  external ;  and  lias  its  internal  sane- 


AS  B  Y  FIRE. 

titles  as  well  as  it  external  ceremonials  and  forms  of 
worship.  The  laws  of  this  kingdom  are  the  pre 
cepts  of  the  Holy  Word ;  and  only  those  who  keep 
these  precepts  in  the  heart  and  life  are  really  the 
subjects  of  this  kingdom.  All  such  are  free  from 
the  power  of  hell ;  for  God  dwells  in  them  and 
around  them." 

"  Must,  then,  a  man  join  the  church  to  come  into 
God's  kingdom?" 

"  I  think  he  will  find  that  kingdom  by  the  way 
of  a  church  door  more  easily  than  in  any  other  way. 
We  are  none  of  us  so  strong  that  we  can  afford  to  do 
without  the  help  that  comes  from  association  with 
our  fellow-men.  God  did  not  make  us  to  stand 
alone,  but  in  mutual  dependence.  This  is  as  true 
in  spiritual  as  in  natural  things.  And  so  the  church 
to  be  a  power  with  men  must  be  external  as  well  as 
internal." 

"  You  may  be  right  about  all  this,"  I  made  an 
swer.  "  Certainly  I  should  feel  more  confidence  in 
Granger's  reformation  if  I  knew  that  he  was  oftener 
at  church.  I  was  glad  to  see  him  there  last  Sunday. 
But  I  have  felt  more  concerned  for  him  since  then 
than  usual.  The  reason  may  appear  tq  you  a  little 
strange." 

"  What  is  it  ?" 

"  I  have  never  seen  his  face  so  serious,  nor  his 

manner  so  absorbed,  as  they  were  during  the  services 

of  the  morning.     While  the  lessons  from  Scripture 

were  read,  his  eyes  were  scarcely  turned  for  an  in.- 

10 


150 

etant  away  from  the  minister.  In  all  the  church 
there  was  not,  apparently,  a  more  deeply  interested 
listener." 

"A  reason  for  hope  rather  than  concern,"  said 
Mr.  Stannard. 

"  That  depends  on  the  cause  of  this  unusual  so 
briety  of  demeanor,"  I  answered.  "My  thought 
has  been,  that  the  long  repressed  appetite  is  begin 
ning  to  assault  him  once  more ;  and  that,  day  by 
day,  the  conviction  is  becoming  stronger  and  stronger 
in  his  mind  that  it  will,  sooner  or  later,  acquire  the 
mastery  again.  His  coming  to  church,  and  espec 
ially  his  demeanor  at  church,  may  be  the  signs  of 
his  sense  of  weakness  and  danger ;  an  effort  to  gain 
help  from  higher  influences — a  half-desperate  reach 
ing  out  of  his  hands  in  the  dark  for  something  to 
which  he  may  cling  when  the  waters  that  are  moving 
upon  him  rise  higher  and  gain  the  force  of  a  resist 
less  flood." 

"  If  this  be  so  he  is  turning  to  the  Strong  for 
strength,  and  seeking  help  where  it  can  alone  be 
found." 

"  But  don't  you  see,  that  if  this  be  so,  Mr.  Stan 
nard,  how  desperate  the  case  may  be  ?  The  floods 
are  rising  against  him.  He  feels  that  his  strength 
is  going.  He  is  half-blind — half-desperate.  Will 
he  take  hold  of  God  ?  If  not,  what  then  ?  Ah  ! 
eir,  I  cannot  but  feel  a  low  shiver  of  suspense  as 
I  realize,  in  thought,  this  awful  crisis  for  a  human 
eoul." 


AS  BY  FIRE.  15' 

"  In  which  it  has  only  to  cry  out  as  it  turns  from 
self  to  God;  'Save,  Lord,  or  I  perish!'  to  be  lifted 
from  the  flood." 

"  But  if  it  fail  in  this  ?  If  it  cannot,  or  will 
not?" 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  as  cannot  for  a  tried  and 
tempted  soul.  It  can  look  to  God,  and  take  hold  of 
God,  if  it  will." 

"  But,"  I  said,  pressing  the  question,  "  if  it  will 
not?" 

The  light  went  out  of  Mr.  Stannard's  face  and  it 
grew  very  sober. 

"  It  was  because  of  this  '  I  will  not/  "  he  replied, 
"  that  the  Lord,  in  His  tender  mercy,  bowed  the 
heavens  and  came  down  into  our  very  debased 
humanity,  that  we  might  see  Him  as  a  Divine  Man, 
and  feel  the  warmth  of  His  compassion,  and  know 
Him  as  our  friend  and  Saviour,  and  that  He  might 
inspire  in  us  the  '  I  will,'  by  which  He  could  lift  us 
back  again  into  the  pure  and  happy  life  which  we 
had  lost." 

"  But  if  this  cannot  now  be  inspired  into  the  soul 
of  Mr.  Granger,"  said  I,  "what  then?  Must  he 
fall  in  his  hour  of  trial  and  darkness  ?" 

"  If  the  external  strength  which  he  has  acquired 
be  not  sufficient  for  him — the  considerations  of  honor 
and  good  citizenship ;  of  worldly  ambition  and  pros 
perity  ;  of  love  and  regard  for  his  wife  and  children ; 
of  personal  well-being  and  happiness, — and  he  will 
not  take  God's  strength  instead,  what  shall  save 


152 

him  ?  I  know  not.  But  let  us  hope  that  he  is  going 
to  God  in  the  right  way.  I  believe  that  he  is." 

"  Ah !  if  one  could  know !  I  feel  that  another 
great  crisis  has  come  to  our  friend.  If  he  should 
not  pass  it  safely,  he  may  fall  never  to  rise  again." 

"  He  can  never  fall  so  low,"  was  answered,  "  that 
God's  love  will  not  be  still  reaching  down  and  seek 
ing  to  save  him.  All  day  long  He  will  stretch  out 
His  hands  to  him ;  all  day  long  call  after  him  in 
tones  of  love  and  compassion,  '  Son,  give  me  thy 
heart !'  and  it  will  not  matter  how  low  he  may  fall, 
nor  how  far  away  he  may  wander  into  the  desert  of 
sin  and  shame,  the  moment  he  hearkens  to  that 
voice  and  turns  from  himself  to  God,  he  will  be  in 
the  fold  of  safety.  It  is  a  good  thing  for  Granger 
that  he  is  feeling  his  own  helplessness,  and  begin 
ning  to  look  for  help  from  above.  He  may  not  find 
it  now,  because  he  may  not  be  ready  to  give  his 
heart  to  God ;  but  if,  trusting  in  his  own  strength, 
he  should  fall  again,  God  will  not  forsake  him,  but 
still  go  after  him,  and  it  may  be  find  him  so  weak, 
and  helpless,  and  despairing,  that  he  will  no  longer 
hold  back,  but  throw  himself  into  the  loving  arms 
of  his  divine  Saviour.  Then  will  be  born  in  him 
a  new  life  from  above ;  and  if  he  live  this  life  he 
shall  never  fall  again ;  for  it  is  a  heavenly  life.  Not 
a  mere  life  of  faith  and  feeling,  but  of  love  to  God 
and  good  will  to  man,  that  continually  shows  itself 
in  a  keeping  of  the  commandments  in  the  spirit  as 
well  as  in  the  letter." 


AS  BY  FIRE.  153 

"It  is  your  belief,  then,"  said  I,  "that  until  Mr. 
Granger  becomes  a  religious  man  there  is  very  little 
hope  for  him  ?" 

"Very  little,  I  fear." 

"  He  must  unite  himself  with  the  church  ?" 

"  It  would  be  better  for  him.  But  joining  the 
church  will  not  make  him  a  religious  man.  That 
is  the  effect  of  an  internal  change,  not  of  an  external 
relation.  There  must  be  a  new  spiritual  birth  before 
there  can  be  a  new  man.  *  Marvel  not  that  I  said 
unto  thee,  Ye  must  be  born  again.' ' 

"Ah!  if  we  knew  just  what  that  meant,"  I  said. 

"  That  which  is  born  of  the  flesh  is  flesh,"  said 
Mr.  Stannard.  "  Let  us  rise  higher  in  our  thought. 
The  new  birth  is  in  the  soul.  It  has  been  down 
into  the  world,  where  it  has  gone  by  way  of  the 
senses,  and  has  lived  the  life  of  the  world,  which  is 
a  selfish  life,  and  evil  because  selfish.  The  more 
intense  this  life,  the  more  opposite  to  the  life  of 
Heaven  has  it  become.  Now,  unless  a  new  life  be 
born  in  the  soul,  it  can  never  come  into  Heaven, 
which  is  a  state  of  love  to  the  Lord  and  the  neigh 
bor.  How  this  life  is  born  is  the  great  and  import 
ant  question.  Let  me  make  it  as  clear  to  your  un 
derstanding  as  lies  in  my  power.  This  new  birth 
is  effected  by  means  of  Divine  truth  cast  into  the 
mind  as  a  seed,  and  the  new  spiritual  birth  has  its 
beginning  in  the  very  moment  that  a  man  endeavors 
earnestly  and  by  the  help  of  God  to  obey  this  truth. 
For  to  do  is  to  live.  If  the  doing  is  in  obedience  to 


154 


SAVED 


Divine  truth,  which  teaches  that  a  man  shall  not 
only  love  God,  but  cease  to  do  evil,  then  the  new 
man,  a  weak  and  almost  helpless  infant  as  yet,  be 
gins  really  to  live  and  grow ;  and  the  Divine  sphere 
is  round  about  it,  and  all  the  powers  of  Heaven  are 
arrayed  for  its  protection.  It  is  absolutely  safe,  this 
new-born  child,  so  long  as  it  takes  the  sincere  milk 
of  the  Word,  and  lives  thereby.  But  in  danger  the 
moment  it  turns  itself  away  therefrom,  and  attempts 
to  feed  on  the  husks  that  can  only  sustain  the  lower 
life  of  selfishness  and  sin.  The  spiritual  man  can 
not  subsist  on  these.  It  must  have  heavenly  food 
or  it  will  die." 

"  Then  it  is  not  the  instantaneous  washing  and 
purifying  of  the  old  natural  man,  but  the  birth  of 
a  new  spiritual  man,  which  must  live  and  grow  until 
it  attain  the  full  stature,  as  the  apostle  says,  of  a  man 
in  Christ  Jesus  ?" 

"  The  natural  man  is  for  this  world.  The  spirit 
ual  man  for  Heaven.  We  must  come  into  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven  as  little  children,  not  as  full- 
grown  spiritual  men.  He  called  a  little  child  and 
set  him  in  the  midst  of  them,  and  said,  '  Verily  I 
say  unto  you,  except  ye  be  converted,  and  become 
as  little  children,  ye  shall  not  enter  into  the  King 
dom  of  Heaven.'  First  a  weak  child,  with  the 
angels  that  do  always  behold  the  face  of  my  Father 
close  about  Him  ;  afterwards  a  strong  spiritual  man, 
Yuling  in  righteousness  over  all  the  lower  things 
of  natural  life,  and  bringing  them  into  heavenly 


AS  B  Y  FIRE. 

order — establishing  the  kingdom  of  God  in  the 
natural  man,  and  doing  the  will  of  God  in  the  earth 
as  it  is  done  in  Heaven." 

"  Taking  this  view,"  I  said,  "  is  not  the  confident 
state  of  mind  we  so  often  see  in  young  converts  one 
of  false  security,  and  attended  with  great  danger  ? 
We  hear  them  speak  with  the  assurance  of  strong 
men." 

"  While  yet  only  babes  in  Christ.  Yes,  this  state 
is  one  of  false  security,  and,  therefore,  its  dangers 
are  great.  No  wonder  that  so  many  stumble — that 
so  few  keep  to  their  first  love.  They  use  strong 
meat  instead  of  milk ;  try  to  lift  themselves  to  the 
stature  of  full-grown  men,  and  to  walk  with  long 
strides;  are  bold  and  confident.  But  being  only 
little  children,  they  fall ;  having  no  root  themselves, 
they  endure  but  for  a  while,  and  when  tribulations 
and  persecutions  arise  because  of  the  Word,  by  and 
by  they  are  offended." 


CHAPTER  XL 

A  HEADLONG  PLUNGE. 

I  HAD  left  my  office  a  little  earlier  than  usual  in 
the  afternoon,  and  was  on  my  way  homeward, 
when,  on  turning  the  corner  of  a  street,  I  saw  Mr. 
Granger  just  in  advance  of  me.  He  was  walking 
slowly,  with  his  head  bent  slightly  forward.  Quick 
ening  my  pace,  I  soon  joined  him.  As  I  laid  my 
hand  on  his  arm  and  spoke,  he  gave  a  start,  and 
when  I  looked  into  his  face  I  saw  the  color  rising. 
There  was  something  in  his  eyes  that  gave  me  a 
feeling  of  uneasiness.  His  manner  was  more  re 
pressed  than  cordial. 

We  walked  together  for  the  space  of  a  few  blocks, 
and  then  our  ways  parted.  We  had  not,  in  our 
efforts  to  talk,  touched  upon  any  subject  in  which 
we  found  a  mutual  interest;  and  therefore  our  brief 
intercourse  had  been  marked  by  constraint.  What 
followed  our  separation  I  learned  long  afterwards, 
and  from  the  lips  of  Mr.  Granger  himself.  I  give 
the  story  in  his  own  words : 

"  I  had  been  fighting  the  old  appetite  desperate 
ly,"  said  he ;  "  fighting  it  for  weeks,  and  being  often 
on  the  very  eve  of  defeat  and  surrender.  But  the 
awful  condition  into  which  I  would  be  cast  if  I  fell 
into  the  enemy's  power  held  me  to  my  post.  I  saw 
160 


AS  BY  FIRE.  157 

my  home  desolated,  my  wife  broken-hearted,  my 
children  beggared — and  I  so  loved  them !  I  saw 
myself  cast  down  again,  and  to  a  lower  depth  of 
misery  and  degradation  than  any  into  which  I  had 
yet  fallen.  The  horror  that  was  before  me  was  ap 
palling,  and  all  the  while  I  felt  the  peril  increas 
ing — my  enemy  growing  stronger,  and  my  power  of 
resistance  weaker. 

"  And  now  it  seemed  as  if  all  hell  were  against 
me.  I  could  not  look  this  way  or  that — go  here  nor 
there,  but  temptation  met  me  face  to  face.  Men 
who  knew  nothing  of  my  past  history,  and  some 
who  knew  it  too  well,  invited  me  to  drink.  At  din 
ners,  at  social  gatherings,  at  private  interviews  with 
clients,  at  friendly  meetings  on  the  streets  and  in 
offices  and  stores,  the  glass  was  offered  or  the  invi 
tation  to  drink  given.  I  wearied  of  saying  no,  and 
began  to  feel  ashamed  of  the  weakness  that  so 
often  brought  on  me  a  look  of  surprise  when  I 
pushed  the  extended  cup  aside.  In  the  street  I 
could  not  walk  for  half  a  square  without  encounter 
ing  a  saloon  which  gave  to  appetite  a  reminder 
through  the  sense  of  sight  or  smell.  You  may 
think  it  strange,  but  I  have  gone  out  of  my  way 
again  and  again,  in  order  to  avoid  passing  a  certain 
drinking  saloon,  the  very  sight  of  which,  more  than 
any  other,  quickened  my  desire  for  liquor. 

"Stronger  and  stronger  became  the  pressure  of 
the  downward  current,  and  my  sense  of  danger 
greater.  I  looked  this  way  and  that  for  help,  but 


158 

saw  no  way  of  escape.  All  faith  in  my  own  man 
hood  was  fast  leaving  me,  and  I  knew  that  the  time 
must  come  when  some  stronger  sweep  of  the  waters 
would  bear  me  away. 

"  It  was  this  feeling  that  drew  me  to  church  some 
times.  But  I  went,  always,  under  a  kind  of  protest, 
and  while  there  too  often  set  my  thought  against 
what  I  heard,  instead  of  opening  my  mind  to  the 
sacred  influences  of  the  place.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  last  Sunday  on  which  I  attended  worship — I  tried 
to  stay  away,  and  made  many  excuses  to  myself  for 
remaining  at  home.  But  none  of  them  prevailed. 
As  I  entered  the  church  doors  on  that  morning,  I 
was  conscious  of  a  new  feeling.  As  if  I  had  stepped 
from  an  arena  where  I  had  been  fighting  for  my 
life,  into  a  place  of  rest  and  safety.  My  heart  was 
touched  and  opened.  The  lessons  from  the  Bible 
particularly  impressed  me ;  and  many  of  the  divine 
words  seemed  as  if  spoken  for  my  assurance.  I  felt, 
as  I  had  never  felt  before,  that  by  the  help  of  God 
I  might  stand  fast ;  and  I  resolved  to  go  to  Him  and 
ask  Him  for  aid  and  succor. 

"  I  went  out  in  the  afternoon,  saying  to  my  wife 
that  I  was  going  to  see  Mr.  Stannard.  I  wanted  to 
have  a  talk  with  this  good  man  about  religion  and 
the  church,  for  I  had  great  confidence  in  him.  But 
I  did  not  do  as  I  intended ;  and  here  was  my  fatal 
error.  When  only  a  short  distance  from  his  house, 
I  met  a  couple  of  friends  riding  out,  and  weakly 
yielded  to  their  solicitations  to  go  with  them  for  a 


AS  B  Y  FIRE. 


159 


drive  in  the  Park.  As  I  entered  the  carriage  I  "was 
sensible  of  an  opposite  impression  to  that  which  I 
had  felt  in  the  morning.  Then  it  seemed  to  me  as 
if  I  had  passed  from  strife  and  peril  into  a  place  of 
safety ;  now,  from  a  sphere  of  safety  into  one  of  dan 
ger.  But  it  was  too  late  for  me  to  recede.  The  car 
riage  was  in  motion  again  and  I  once  more  adrift 
on  a  current  too  strong  for  my  steadily  lessening 
powers  of  resistance. 

"  A  drive  for  an  hour  in  the  Park  with  pleasant 
friends,  and  then  an  invitation  to  drink  at  one  of 
the  restaurants.  I  took  only  ginger  ale;  but  the 
smell  of  their  stronger  liquors  was  in  my  nostrils, 
and  I  felt  an  almost  irrepressible  desire  to  taste  them. 
The  very  act  of  drinking  with  these  friends,  though 
what  I  took  might  only  be  a  harmless  beverage,  had 
an  evil  influence  on  me. 

"  I  would  see  Mr.  Stannard  in  the  evening,  I 
thought,  as  I  entered  the  carriage ;  but  when  even 
ing  came,  my  state  of  mind  had  undergone  so  com 
plete  a  change,  that  the  very  thought  of  religious 
things  was  distasteful.  For  the  two  or  three  days 
that  followed,  it  seemed  as  if  I  could  not  turn  to  the 
right  hand  nor  to  the  left  without  temptation.  It 
was  not  greater  than  usual,  perhaps;  only  I  was 
weaker  and  more  open  to  assault.  The  day  at  whose 
close  I  met  you,  as  I  was  on  my  way  homeward,  had 
been  marked  not  only  by  many  incidents  of  warn 
ing,  but  by  an  unwonted  number  of  solicitations.  1 
was  weary  and  exhausted  from  incessant  conflict; 


160 


FA  VED 


and  what  was  worse,  my  mind  was  losing  its  balance. 
I  could  not  hold  it  to  the  high  considerations  of 
honor,  and  duty,  and  love,  which  had  hitherto  in 
fluenced  me.  A  cloud  came  down  over  it  Clear- 
seeing  was  gone.  I  felt  only  an  irresistible  craving. 
It  was  as  if  an  evil  spirit  had  taken  possession  of  per 
ception  and  feeling,  and  held  them  to  a  single 
thought  and  desire  ;  the  thought  of  liquor  and  the 
desire  to  drink.  Was  I  not  for  the  time  insane  and 
irresponsible?  Could  I  help  the  fatal  plunge  I  made? 
"  You  remember  our  brief  meeting.  Scarcely  had 
we  parted  when  a  client  for  whom  I  was  conducting 
an  important  suit,  laid  his  hand  on  me,  saying: 
'Ah!  This  is  fortunate,  Granger.  I  missed  you  at 
your  office.  Some  new  facts,  of  great  importance 
in  our  case,  have  come  into  my  possession,  and  I 
wished  you  to  have  them  with  as  little  delay  as  pos 
sible.'  He  drew  his  arm  in  mine  and  we  walked 
for  a  short  distance,  trying  to  converse.  But  the 

*x  O 

noise  and  confusion  of  the  street  interrupted  us. 
As  we  were  passing  a  drinking  saloon,  he  said : 
'  Come ;  we'll  get  a  quiet  corner  in  here,  and  talk 
this  matter  over.'  I  went  with  him  passively.  We 
found  a  quiet  corner.  '  What  will  you  have  ?'  he 
said.  I  made  a  feeble  effort  to  get  to  my  lips  the 
words,  '  Nothing  for  me,'  but  failed,  and  in  their 
stead,  as  if  my  organs  of  speech  were  controlled  by 
another,  answered,  '  Not  particular.  Anything  you 
please.'  Beer  was  set  before  me,  and  I  drank.  You 
know  the  rest." 


AS  BY  FIRE. 


His  client  did  not  find  him  at  his  office  on  the 
next  morning,  nor  in  the  court-room  when  the  trial 
of  his  case,  which  had  been  opened  on  the  previous 
day,  was  continued.  The  new  facts  which  had  been 
given  to  Granger  were  not  put  in  evidence,  and  the 
associate  counsel  had,  in  his  absence,  to  meet  the 
issue  without  them.  The  result  proved  disastrous — 
the  case  was  lost.  But  that  was  of  small  considera 
tion  in  comparison  with  the  loss  of  the  man  who 
had  been  tempted  at  tlie  moment  when  the  power  to 
resist  was  almost  gone. 

How  rapid  the  fall  which  came.  It  was  an  almost 
headlong  plunge.  The  whole  man  seemed  to  give 
way.  For  over  two  weeks  it  was  a  perpetual  de 
bauch  with  drink,  and  the  end  came  only  when  the 
over-strained  nerves  and  organs  gave  way,  and  he 
was  prostrated  by  sickness.  His  recovery  was  fol 
lowed  by  a  speedy  relapse  into  intemperance.  As 
far  as  could  be  seen,  there  was  no  longer  any  effort 
on  his  part  to  resist  the  demon  of  appetite,  or  to  strug 
gle  against  the  stream  that  was  bearing  him  down. 
In  every  conflict  with  this  demon  he  had  in  the  end 
been  beaten,  and  with  each  new  rally  there  had  been 
loss  of  strength.  What  hope  of  victory  in  any  new 
battle  ?  He  felt  that  there  was  none,  and  weakly 
abandoned  himself  to  his  fate. 

Alas  for  the  swift  descent !  Friends  fell  away 
from  him.  Clients  removed  their  cases  from  his 
hands.  Business  forsook  his  office.  More  than  half 
his  time  was  spent  in  drinking-saloous,  or  in  sleep- 


162 

ing  off  the  effects  of  drunkenness.  Scarcely  six 
months  had  elapsed  when,  in  passing  his  residence 
on  Spruce  Street  one  day,  I  saw  a  bill  on  the  door. 
The  house  was  for  rent.  In  the  following  week  he 
moved  away,  his  family  dropping  again  out  of  the 
old  circles. 

Occasionally,  after  this,  I  met  him  on  the  street. 
The  change  in  his  appearance  was  sad  to  witness. 
Excessive  drinking  had  swollen  and  distorted  his 
face,  robbing  it  of  its  fmo  intelligence.  All  the  fire 
had  gone  out  of  his  eyes.  Meeting  him  on  one  oc 
casion,  I  took  his  hand  and  said :  "  Granger,  my 
dear  man,  this  is  all  wrong.  You  will  kill  your 
self." 

A  strange  gleam  shot  across  his  face,  and  there 
was  a  brief  disturbance  in  his  manner.  Then,  with 
a  short  laugh,  he  replied :  "All  right.  The  sooner 
it's  over  the  better." 

"  No,  no.  It's  all  wrong.  Come  round  to  my 
office.  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  No,  thank  you.  It  won't  be  of  any  use ;  and 
besides,  I've  an  engagement.'' 

"  It's  never  too  late  to  mend,"  I  urged.  "  Never 
too  late  to  stop — " 

1  "  You  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  he  said, 
with  some  impatience  of  manner,  interrupting  me. 
"  When  the  devil  of  drink  gets  you  fairly  in  his 
clutches,  there's  small  chance  left.  Good-bye,  and 
God  bless  you !"  There  was  a  break  in  his  voice  in 
the  closing  sentence. 


[AS  BY  FIRE. 

Turning  from  me  abruptly,  lie  walked  away.  I 
heard,  not  long  afterwards,  that  in  order  to  keep  her 
two  younger  sisters  at  school,  his  oldest  daughter, 
Amy,  a  beautiful  young  girl,  who  made  her  appear 
ance  in  society  about  a  year  before,  had  assumed 
the  duties  of  a  teacher  in  the  seminary  where  they 
were  being  educated,  and  that  Mrs.  Granger  was 
trying  to  get  music  scholars. 

Next  it  was  said  that  Granger  had  become  abusive 
to  his  family.  I  could  not  believe  this,  for  I  knew 
something  of  the  natural  tenderness  of  his  heart, 
and  the  strength  of  his  old  love  for  his  wife  and 
children.  Even  while  under  the  influence  of  drink, 
I  did  not  believe  that  he  would  be  anything  but 
personally  kind  to  them.  How  great,  therefore,  was 
my  surprise  and  sorrow,  when,  a  few  months  later, 
the  fact  became  known  that  his  wife  had  left  him 
on  account  of  ill  treatment,  and  was  living  with  her 
three  daughters  in  the  family  of  a  relative. 

Granger  still  had  his  law  office,  and  was  occasion 
ally-  in  court  as  counsel  in  some  petty  larceny  or 
assault  and  battery  case,  picking  up  a  fee  here  and 
there,  and  managing  to  get  money  enough  to  supply 
the  demands  of  his  insatiate  and  steadily  increasing- 
appetite.  But  the  time  came  when  even  this  poor 
resource  failed.  When  few,  if  any,  were  found  will 
ing  to  trust  even  the  most  trifling  case  to  a  man  who 
might  stand  up  in  court  on  the  day  of  trial  so  much 
intoxicated  as  to  be  unable  to  tell  on  which  side  of 
the  case  he  was  pleading. 


364  I  SAVED 

In  less  than  two  years  from  the  date  of  his  last 
relapse  into  drunkenness,  Granger  had  fallen  so  low 
that  to  get  money  for  drink  he  would  stoop  to  any 
meanness  or  falsehood.  All  sharne,  all  sense  of 
honor,  all  regard  for  the  truth,  had  died  out  of  him. 
He  had  become  a  miserable  beggar,  making  his 
daily  round  among  the  law  offices  and  through  the 
court-rooms,  soliciting  the  loan  of  a  trifle  here  and 
a  trifle  there  from  old  friends  and  acquaintances,  and 
taking  rebuffs,  curses,  stern  rebukes  and  pitiful  re 
monstrances  with  but  few  signs  of  feeling.  Promises 
of  amendment  he  would  make  without  limit.  If 
the  asked-for  loan  were  withheld  under  the  plea 
that  he  would  spend  it  for  drink,  he  would  not  hesi 
tate  about  making  the  most  solemn  asseveration  that 
he  had  taken  no  liquor  for  days,  and  only  wanted 
to  get  something  to  eat,  not  having  tasted  food  for 
twenty-four  or  thirty-six  hours,  as  this  or  that  period 
happened  to  come  to  his  lips.  One  lie  with 
him  was  as  good  as  another,  so  that  it  served  his 
purpose.  And  there  had  been  a  time  when  he  would 
have  felt  his  high  sense  of  personal  honor  tarnished 
by  even  a  small  prevarication  !  So  had  the  robber 
demon  of  drink  despoiled  the  man  !  And  not  of 
honor  alone ;  every  moral  sense  had  been  stolen 
away,  drugged  into  sleep,  or  wrested  from  him. 

I  saw  a  crowd  in  the  street  one  day,  and  crossed 
to  see  what  it  meant.  As  I  came  near,  I  observed 
a  slender  girl,  who  had  been  drawn  into  the  group 
of  men  and  women,  moving  back  hastily,  as  if 


'I  saw  Alexander  Granger  sitting  on  the  pavement  and  leaning  back  against 
a  door-s^ep  so  drunk  that  he  could  scarcely  hold  his  head  up." — Paye  161. 


AS  BY  FIRE. 


167 


shocked  by  what  she  had  witnessed  in  the  centre  of 
the  crowd.  A  white,  almost  terror-stricken  face 
met  my  view  as  she  turned.  I  was  impressed  by 
something  familiar  in  its  contour  and  expression.  I 
saw  it  only  for  an  instant,  for  the  young  girl  fled 
past  me  as  one  affrighted  and  went  hurrying  down 
the  street.  For  a  moment  or  two  I  stood  looking 
after  her  swiftly-retreating  form,  wondering  where 
I  had  seen  her.  All  doubts  were  settled  when,  on 
pressing  forward,  I  saw  Alexander  Granger  sitting 
on  the  pavement  and  leaning  back  against  a  door 
step,  so  drunk  that  he  could  scarcely  hold  his  head 
up ;  while  a  policeman  was  endeavoring  to  lift  him 
to  his  feet.  The  girl  was  his  daughter,  Amy. 

A  few  hours  afterwards,  as  I  stood  on  the  steps  of 
my  own  residence,  about  to  enter,  the  door  was 
drawn  open  from  within  and  I  met  the  face  of 
Granger's  daughter  again.  The  whiteness  had  not 
yet  gone  out  of  it.  She  gave  a  little  start  at  seeing 
me. 

"Miss  Granger,  I  believe,"  said  I,  with  kind 
familiarity  in  my  voice,  extending  my  hand  at  the 
same  time.  I  felt  a  tremor  in  the  small,  soft  palm 
that  was  laid  in  mine  for  an  instant  and  then  with 
drawn.  Tears  were  coining  in  the  poor  girl's  eyes, 
and  I  saw  that  her  lips  were  quivering.  I  stepped 
aside  that  she  might  pass,  and  in  a  moment  she  was 
gone. 

Inside  the  door  my  own  precious  daughter,  just 
Amy's  age,  met  me,  and  laid  her  loving  kisses  on 
11 


SA  VED 

my  lips.  I  could  net  trust  myself  to  speak  because 
of  the  tearful  pity  that  was  in  my  heart  for  the 
worse  than  fatherless  girl  who  had  just  gone  over 
the  threshold  of  my  happy  home. 

"  What  did  Amy  Granger  want  ?"  I  asked,  as, 
with  an  arm  about  my  daughter,  we  went  from  the 
hall  into  the  parlor. 

"  She's  trying  to  get  a  place  in  the  Mint,  and  she 
called  to  ask  mother  about  it,  and  to  see  if  you 
wouldn't  sign  her  application." 

"  Why,  of  course  I  will.     Did  she  leave  it  ?" 

"  Yes.  And  she  asked  mother  to  ask  you  if  you 
didn't  know  somebody  else  who  would  help  her  by 
signing  it." 

"Poor  child!"  I  said,  pityingly.  "To  be  so 
robbed  and  wronged!  Of  course  I'll  do  all  in  my 
power  to  help  her.  I'll  see  the  Director  of  the  Mint 
myself,  and  if  there's  a  place  vacant,  I'll  not  leave  a 
stone  unturned  but  she  shall  have  it." 

"  There's  something  so  sweet  about  her,"  said  my 
daughter.  "So  refined  and  modest,  and  gentle.  Oh! 
it  must  be  very  hard.  What  an  awful  thing  this 
drunkenness  is !  Why,  father,  dear,"  and  the  sweet 
girl  drew  her  arms  about  my  neck  and  laid  her 
cheek  against  mine,  "  I  should  not  have  a  moment's 
peace  if  you  drank  wine  or  beer  every  day  as  some 
men  do." 

"You'd  have  cause  for  trouble,  my  darling,  if 
that  were  so,"  I  replied,  "  for  no  man  who  uses  them 
be  regarded  as  safe.  I  know  of  a  dozen  ruined 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

liomes  that  were  once  as  secure  and  as  happy  as 
ours.  It  was  drink  that  desolated  them.  And  I 
know  of  many  more  that  are  in  danger,  and  towards 
which  ruin  is  walking  with  slow  but  steady  steps." 

She  held  her  arms  more  tightly  about  my  neck. 
When  she  lifted  her  cheek  from  mine  her  eyes  were 
wet  with  tears. 

My  efforts  to  secure  a  situation  in  the  Mint  for 
Miss  Granger  were  not  successful,  another  applicant 
for  the  vacant  place  getting  the  appointment.  But 
my  interest  and  that  of  my  family  were  thoroughly 
awakened  in  behalf  of  the  girl,  who  not  only  de 
sired  independence  for  herself,  but  an  opportunity 
to  help  her  mother  and  younger  sisters.  The  best 
that  could  be  done  for  her  in  the  beginning  was  to 
secure  the  position  of  attendant  in  a  photograph  gal 
lery  at  four  dollars  a  week.  It  was  accepted  with 
thankfulness.  Mrs.  Granger,  who  had  commenced 
giving  lessons  in  music  even  before  her  separation 
from  her  husband,  continued  in  the  profession  of 
teacher,  and  had  scholars  enough  to  give  her  a  mod 
erate  income  and  keep  her  above  absolute  depend 
ence  on  the  relatives  who  had  so  kindly  offered  her 
a  home  in  her  sore  extremity. 

It  was  three  or  four  months  after  we  had  succeeded 
in  getting  a  place  for  Amy  Granger,  that,  on  coming 
home  one  day,  I  found  her  mother  waiting  to  see 
me.  I  did  not  know  her  on  first  coming  into  the 
parlor,  a  year  or  two  had  so  changed  her,  and  when, 
on  my  entrance,  she  arose  and  introduced  herself  I 


170 


SAVED 


could  scarcely  believe  it  possible  that  the  wife  of 
Alexander  Granger  was  before  me. 

"  I've  called  to  see  you  on  account  of  my  daugh 
ter,"  she  said,  after  being  seated  again.  Her  manner 
was  much  embarrassed ;  and  she  was  evidently  try 
ing  to  hide  the  distress  from  which  she  was  suffering. 

"  What  about  Amy  ?"  I  asked. 

"  You  were  very  kind  in  getting  her  into  that 
photograph  gallery,"  she  answered,  "  and  we  were  all 
so  grateful." 

"  She  hasn't  lost  her  situation,  I  hope  ?" 

Yes,  she  had  lost  it ;  I  saw  this  in  the  mother's 
face. 

'*  How  came  it?"  I  asked.  "  Didn't  she  give  sat 
isfaction  ?" 

"  Oh !  yes,  sir.  It  was  all  right  so  far  as  that 
went;  and  they  had  increased  her  pay  to  five  dollars 
a  week.  But—  "  I  saw  the  tears  Hooding  her  eyes 
as  the  quaver  in  her  voice  checked  her  speech. 
"  Amy  couldn't  come  and  tell  you  herself,"  she  re 
sumed,  as  she  recovered  her  self-possession.  "It 
was  too  hard  for  the  poor  child.  But  she  wanted 
me  to  see  you." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  I  said,  kindly.  "  I'm  sure 
it  was  no  fault  of  hers,  poor  child !" 

"  Indeed  it  was  not,  Mr.  Lyon.  It  made  her  sick. 
She  was  in  bed  for  two  or  three  days ;  and  she  looks 
as  if  she'd  come  out  of  a  long  spell  of  sickness." 

"  She  mustn't  take  it  so  to  heart,"  I  replied.  "  No 
doubt  it  can  all  be  made  right  again." 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

"Oh!  no,  sir.  She  can't  go  back  there  any 
more." 

"  Why  not,  Mrs.  Granger  ?" 

"Because — because — "  her  voice  breaking  and 
quivering  again.  Then  she  recovered  herself  and 
said,  with  firmer  speech :  "  It's  on  account  of  her 
father." 

"  It  can't  be  possible,"  I  spoke  with  some  indigna 
tion,  "that  his  misdeeds  should  stand  in  the  way  of 
her  honest  efforts  at  self-support !  No  one  could  be 
so  cruelly  unjust  toward  her  as  that." 

Then  the  truth  came  out.  Let  me  give  the  story 
as  it  came  to  me  then,  and  follow  out  the  sequel  as  it 
came  to  me  afterwards. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IN  PRISON. 

THE  shock  of  seeing  her  father  in  the  condition 
we  have  described,  hurt  deeply  the  sensitive 
nature  of  Amy  Granger.  All  affection  for  him,  de 
based  and  degraded  as  he  was,  had  not  died  in  her 
heart.  Memory  held  too  many  sweet  pictures  of  the 
old,  dear  home  which  she  had  lost,  and  of  the  tender 
and  loving  father  who  had  once  been  the  light  and 
joy  of  that  home.  She  could  never  walk  the  street 
afterwards  without  a  nervous  fear  of  again  encounter 
ing  him.  From  this  she  was  spared  for  several 
months  after  obtaining  the  place  of  an  attendant  in 
the  rooms  of  a  photographer. 

But  one  morning,  just  as  she  was  at  the  entrance  of 
these  rooms,  she  met  her  father  face  to  face.  He  had 
slept  in  a  station-house,  and  had  just  been  sent  forth, 
exhausted  from  want  of  food,  and  with  every  nerve 
unstrung  for  lack  of  stimulants,  wretched  in  feeling 
and  loathesome  in  appearance.  The  shocked  and 
half-frightened  girl  glided  swiftly  past  him,  and  fled 
trembling  up  the  stairway  leading  to  the  gallery  in 
which  she  was  employed,  hoping  that  he  had  not 
recognized  her.  But  in  this  she  was  mistaken. 
Scarcely  had  she  reached  the  second  floor  ere  she 
heard  him  following  her  up  the  stairs,  shuffling  and 
172 


AS  BY  FIRE.  173 

stumbling  by  the  way.  Retreating  to  the  back  part 
of  the  room,  she  stood  breathless  and  frightened, 
until  the  awfully  marred  and  distorted  face  of  her 
father  looked  in  upon  her  from  the  door.  The  sight 
almost  broke  her  heart.  But  in  an  instant  all  thought 
of  herself  was  forgotten.  The  love  which  had  been 
trampled  upon,  bruised  and  broken,  and  wounded 
almost  to  the  death,  lifted  itself  into  the  agony  of  a 
new  life,  and  threw  out  its  arms  wildly.  In  this 
poor  dismantled  wreck  of  humanity,  storm-beaten, 
helpless  and  deserted,  she  saw  the  father  on  whose 
breast  she  had  once  lain  in  sweet  confidence.  All  tha 
happy  past  came  back  in  a  moment ;  pity  and  tender 
ness  flooded  her  soul.  Starting  forward,  she  laid  her 
hands  on  him,  saying  in  tones  of  the  deepest  com 
passion  :  "  Oh,  father !  father !" 

Weak,  nerveless,  helpless  as  a  sick  child,  Granger 
caught  hold  of  his  daughter  with  a  half-despairing 
eagerness,  and  held  on  to  her  as  a  drowning  man  to 
some  new  and  unlooked-for  means  of  succor. 

"  Yes,  it's  your  poor  father,  Amy,"  he  said,  in  a 
deep,  rattling  voice,  scarcely  a  tone  of  which  she 
recognized.  "All  that's  left  of  him." 

Pie  shivered ;  for  the  morning  was  cold,  and  his 
garments  were  scant  and  thin.  What  could  she  do 
or  say?  Before  her  bewildered  thoughts  could  un 
tangle  themselves,  he  gave  the  prompting  words. 

"  I  haven't  had  anything  to  eat  since  yesterday, 
Amy."  His  voice  shaking  as  he  spoke. 

The  child's  pocket-book  was  in  her  hand  ere  the 


174  SA  VED 

sent<?r>™»  was  finished.  All  it  contained  was  fifty 
cents.  As  she  took  the  money  out,  Granger  caught 
it  from  her  fingers,  saying:  "Oh,  thank  you  dear! 
You  were  always  such  a  good  girl." 

The  little  crumpled  bit  of  paper  was  scarcely  in 
the  man's  possession  ere  he  turned  away  and  went 
stumbling  down  the  stairs,  his  daughter  listening  in 
painful  suspense,  every  moment  expecting  to  hear 
him  fall.  But  he  reached  the  street  in  safety,  and 
made  his  way  to  the  nearest  bar-room  he  could  find. 

When  Amy,  who  had  kept  all  this  from  her 
mother,  reached  the  gallery  next  morning,  she  found 
her  father  already  there  and  awaiting  her  arrival. 
His  appearance  was,  if  possible,  more  wretched  and 
disgusting  than  on  the  day  before.  He  was  sitting 
near  a  table  on  which  were  a  number  of  fancy  photo 
graphs,  stereoscopic  views  and  small  card-cases  and 
frames.  The  sight  of  him  sent  the  color  out  of  his 
daughter's  face,  and  the  strength  out  of  her  limbs. 

"  Oh,  father !  father!"  she  said,  speaking  in  a  low 
voice,  as  she  came  up  to  where  he  was  sitting.  "  It's 
hard  for  me  to  say  it,  but  you  mustn't  come  here  any 
more.  I  shall  lose  my  place  if  you  do." 

She  saw  something  like  a  frightened  look  in  his 
eyes  as  he  got  up  hastily. 

"  I'll  go,  then.  I'll  go  right  away,"  he  answered, 
in  an  abject  manner.  "  But  just  give  me  a  little 
something  with  which  to  get  my  breakfast.  I  haven't 
had  a  mouthful  since  yesterday." 

She  gave  him  the  trifle  of  change  that  was  in  her 


AS  BY  FIRE.  175 

pocket-book,  which  he  clutched  with  the  same  trem 
bling  eagerness  he  had  shown  on  the  day  before,  and 
as  hurriedly  made  his  way  to  the  street.  The  only 
witness  of  this  scene  and  that  of  the  preceding  morn 
ing,  was  an  errand  boy. 

"  Is  that  man  your  father,  Miss  Granger  ?"  asked 
the  lad,  as  Amy  turned  from  the  door. 

She  could  not  answer  him. 

"  'Cause,  if  he  is,  you'd  better  not  let  him  come 
here  any  more.  There'll  be  trouble  for  you  if  he 
does.  I  thought  'twas  your  father,  and  so  kept  mum 
until  I  could  speak  to  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Amy,  as  she  turned 
a  scared  face  on  the  boy. 

"  I  don't  like  to  tell  you,  miss.  But  he  stole  one  of 
them  small  morocco  cases.  I  saw  him  slip  it  into  his 
pocket." 

The  poor  girl  dropped  into  a  chair,  white  as  a 
sheet.  Everything  grew  dark  about  her,  and  it  was 
only  by  a  strong  effort  of  the  will  that  she  kept  from 
losing  her  consciousness  and  falling  to  the  floor. 

"  You  are  not  well,  dear,"  said  Amy's  mother,  as 
she  looked  into  the  face  of  her  daughter  on  the 
morning  after  Granger's  first  visit  to  the  photograph 
gallery. 

"  My  head  aches  a  little,"  was  the  evasive  answer. 

Mrs.  Granger  was  sitting  in  the  room  about  art 
hour  after  Amy  left  home,  when  she  heard  some  one 
come  in  and  ascend  the  stairs.  The  footfalls  were  so 
light  as  scarcely  to  give  a  sound.  She  waited,  lia- 


176  SAVED 

tening ;  but  no  one  came  to  her  door.  Listening 
still,  she  perceived  a  faint  rustling  of  garments  as  of 
some  one  passing  up  to  the  rooms  above.  Then  the 
door  of  Amy's  room  was  opened  and  closed  almost 
noiselessly  ;  and  all  was  still  again.  What  did  this 
mean?  She  had  a  vague  sense  of  mystery  and  fear. 
For  several  minutes  she  sat  with  ear  bent,  and  heart 
beating  heavily. 

"  Who  came  in  just  now  and  went  tip  stairs  ?"  she 
asked  of  one  of  her  younger  daughters  who  entered 
the  room  where  she  was  sitting. 

"  I  heard  no  one,"  answered  the  child. 

"  Go  and  see  if  Amy  has  come  home." 

The  child  did  as  requested,  but  came  back  in  a 
few  moments,  with  a  frightened  look  in  her  eyes, 
and  said:  "Oh,  mamma!  Amy's  lying  on  her  bed; 
and  she  won't  speak  to  me." 

Mrs.  Granger  found  her  daughter  as  the  child 
had  said.  Her  face  was  hidden.  She  looked  as  if  she 
had  fallen  across  the  bed  in  utter  prostration  of 
strength. 

"  Why,  Amy,  dear !  What's  the  matter  ?  Are  you 
sick?"  ' 

There  was  no  movement  or  reply. 

Mrs.  Granger  bent  over  her  daughter  and  tried  to 
lift  her  face  so  that  she  could  look  into  it ;  but  Amy's 
only  response  was  a  slight  resistance  and  continued 
hiding  of  her  face. 

"  Amy,  my  child !  Why  don't  you  speak  to  me  ? 
Has  anything  happened  ?"  The  alarmed  and  anx- 


AS  BY  FIRE.  177 

ious  mother  pressed  her  questions  rapidly ;  but  no 
reply  coming,  she  drew  her  arm  beneath  the  head 
of  her  daughter  and  lifted  and  turned  it  so  that  she 
could  look  into  the  hitherto  hidden  face.  It  was 
pale  and  rigid,  with  signs  of  intense  suffering  about 
the  closely-shut  mouth.  A  long  time  passed  before 
Mrs.  Granger  could  gather  from  the  unhappy  girl 
the  story  of  her  father's  visits  to  the  gallery,  and  the 
shame  and  disgrace  which  they  had  brought  upon 
her. 

Many  days  passed  ere  Amy  was  able  to  rise  out 
of  the  deep  prostration  of  mind  and  body  into  which 
she  had  been  thrown,  and  to  turn  her  thoughts  to 
the  work  and  duty  that  were  still  before  her.  She 
could  not  go  back  to  the  photograph  rooms.  That 
question  did  riot  have  a  moment's  debate,  either  with 
herself  or  her  mother.  It  was  to  get  my  advice  and 
help  in  this  new  and  most  distressing  state  of  affairs 
that  Mrs.  Granger  had  called  upon  me,  as  mentioned 
in  the  preceding  chapter.  My  sympathies  were 
strongly  excited,  and  I  assured  her  that  I  would  do 
all  in  my  power  to  assist  her  daughter  in  getting 
another  place. 

Meanwhile  the  proprietor  of  the  photograph  gal 
lery,  who  had  met  Amy  on  tbe  stairs  as  she  was 
hurrying  away  and  noticed  the  pallor  and  the  wild 
look  in  her  face,  had  made  inquiry  of  the  lad  as  to 
the  meaning  of  her  disturbed  condition.  On  learn 
ing  the  truth,  he  became  greatly  incensed  towards 
Granger — not  so  much  because  of  the  petty  theft 


178  SAVED 

which  had  been  committed,  as  on  account  of  the 
humiliation  and  suffering  which  he  had  brought 
upon  his  innocent  daughter.  Under  the  heat  of  his 
sudden  indignation  lie  started  out,  and  by  the  aid  of 
a  policeman,  succeeded  in  finding  the  miserable  man 
in  one  of  the  saloons  not  far  distant.  On  searching 
him  the  stolen  article  was  discovered  on  his  person. 
His  arrest  and  commitment  by  an  alderman  quickly 
followed.  As  no  one  willing  to  go  bail  for  him 
could  be  found,  he  was  sent  to  the  county  jail,  where 
he  had  been  lying  for  two  or  three  days  when  the 
fact  of  his  imprisonment  first  became  known  to  me 
through  Mr.  Stannard,  a  gentleman  to  whom  brief 
reference  has  already  been  made. 

"  Have  you  heard  about  poor  Granger  ?"  he  said, 
as  we  met  one  morning  on  the  street. 

"  What  about  him  ?"  I  asked. 

"  He's  in  Moyamensing." 

"For  what?" 

"  Theft.  He  stole  some  trifle  from  a  photograph 
gallery,  and  was  arrested  and  sent  to  prison." 

"  Better  there  than  living  a  life  of  drunken  vaga 
bondism  on  the  street,"  I  replied. 

"  I  heard  through  the  prison  agent  that  he  was 
seized  with  mania  soon  after  his  commitment,  and 
had  a  hard  struggle  for  his  life.  But  he  came 
through  after  suffering  the  tortures  of  hell,  greatly 
prostrated  in  mind  and  body." 

"  Poor  wretch !  It  would  have  been  better  had 
he  not  come  through,*'  I  made  answer,  with  less  of 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

feeling  in  my  voice  than  was  really  in  my  heart. 
"A  curse  to  himself  and  to  all  who,  unhappily, 
have  any  relationship  with  him,  why  should  he  con 
tinue  to  Cumber  the  ground  ?" 

I  spoke  more  bitterly  than  I  felt,  for  I  had  old 
remembrances  of  this  man  which  drew  upon  my 
sympathies,  and  softened  my  heart  towards  him. 
There  came  to  me,  even  as  I  spoke,  a  strong  and 
pitiful  contrast  between  what  he  had  been  in  the 
days  of  his  proud  and  honorable  manhood,  and  what 
he  was  now,  debased,  ruined,  homeless,  sick  and  in 
prison. 

"  God  knows  best.  With  Him  are  the  issues  of 
life."  Mr.  Stannard  drew  his  arm  in  mine  as  he 
spoke.  "  And  now,  friend  Lyon,"  he  continued, 
"  as,  in  God's  providence,  this  man  and  his  dreadful 
condition  have  been  brought  so  clearly  before  us, 
may  we  not  regard  the  fact  as  an  indication  that  it 
is  our  duty  to  make  another  effort  to  save  him  ?  He 
has  reached  a  lower  deep  than  any  to  which  he  had 
hitherto  fallen.  May  not  the  awful  sense  of  loss  and 
degradation  which  he  must  feel,  quicken  into  life  a 
new  and  more  intense  desire  to  get  free  from  the 
horrible  pit  into  which  appetite  has  cast  him  ?  And 
may  not  He  who  alone  is  able  to  save,  find  now  an 
entrance  which  has  been  hitherto  closed  against 
Him?" 

I  was  near  my  office  when  I  met  Mr.  Stannaro, 
As  he  drew  his  arm  in  mine  we  moved  onward  and 
were  soon  at  the  door. 


180  SAVED 

"  Come  in.  I  shall  be  glad  to  talk  with  you  about 
Granger.  If  there  is  any  hope  of  saving  him,  I 
am  ready  to  do  all  that  lies  in  my  power." 

We  sat  down  together  and  gave  his  case  our  most 
earnest  consideration.  As  for  myself,  I  saw  little  if 
anything  to  encourage  a  new  effort  to  rescue  this 
fallen  man.  I  had  read  and  thought  a  great  deal 
about  the  evil  of  drunkenness  in  the  last  year  or  two, 
and  was  satisfied  that,  in  cases  of  what  medical  men 
define  as  confirmed  alcoholism,  a  permanent  cure  is 
rarely  if  ever  effected.  It  was  a  disease  that  might 
be  arrested  for  a  time  through  the  complete  removal 
of  exciting  causes;  but  one  which,  if  predisposing 
causes  were  once  fairly  established,  could  never  be 
radically  cured. 

"  If  there  were  no  bar-rooms  and  no  social  drink 
ing  customs,"  I  said,  as  we  talked,  "  we  might  hope 
to  reform  a  case  like  this.  But  one  might  as  well 
send  a  man  who  had  just  recovered  from  intermittent 
fever  back  again  into  the  miasmatic  region  from 
which  he  had  escaped,  as  a  reformed  drunkard  into 
the  business  and  social  world  of  to  day.  There 
w<  tuld  be  small  hope  of  escape  for  either  of  them." 

Mr.  Stannard  drew  a  deep  sigh,  but  did  not  an 
swer. 

I  continued :  "  What  makes  this  case  of  Granger's 
BO  discouraging,  is  the  fact  that  every  possible  agency 
of  reform  has  already  been  tried.  You  know  that  he 
was  in  the  New  York  Inebriate  Asylum  for  several 
mouths." 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

"  Yes,  I  am  aware  of  that." 

"  He  came  home  vastly  improved  ;  and  I  had  great 
hopes  of  him  for  awhile.  But  old  associations  and 
old  influences  set  themselves  against  him  from  the 
very  day  of  his  return  home.  It  was  a  continual 
pressure ;  a  continual  dropping ;  a  continual  allure 
ment.  After  awhile  the  old  appetite,  which  had  not 
heen  extinguished,  began  to  show  signs  of  life.  You 
know  the  rest.  He  was  not  cured.  And,  from  all  I 
can  learn  of  this  disease  of  drunkenness,  no  one  is 
ever  so  thoroughly  cured  as  not  to  be  in  perpetual 
danger  of  relapse.  We  may  take  Granger  out  of 
prison,  and  set  him  on  his  feet  again ;  but  will  he 
stand  ?  Nay,  will  he  not  surely  fall  ?  If  I  could 
only  see  a  reasonable  hope.  But  to  my  mind  there 
is  none." 

"  There  13  always  hope  in  God,"  said  Mr.  Stannard, 
his  voice  low  but  steady  and  assured. 

My  heart  did  not  give  a  quick  response  to  his 
words. 

"  No  man  ever  falls  so  low  that  Christ  cannot  lift 
him  up  and  save  him,"  he  added. 

"  I  believe  that,"  was  my  answer.  "  But  how  docs 
He  save  ?  How,  for  instance,  can  He  save  a  man 
like  Granger?  How  can  His  Divine  power  reach 
him,  and  lift  him  free  from  the  curse  of  the  terrible 
appetite  which  has  enslaved  him  ?  Men  look  to 
God,  and  pray  to  Him,  and  yet  are  not  saved.  Gran 
ger  went  to  church  for  awhile,  and  tried  to  get  a 
higher  strength,  but  it  did  not  come.  Why  ?  Did 


132  SAVED 

God  hold  himself  away  from  him  because  faith  was 
halting  and  blind  ?  Did  He  make  the  measure  of 
this  poor  man's  feeble  mental  effort  the  measure  of 
His  mercy  ?  I  cannot  believe  it." 

"  And  you  must  not,"  Mr.  Stannard  said,  gently, 
"  He  knoweth  our  frame,  and  remembereth  that  we 
are  dust.  Are  not  His  words  explicit — '  Him  that 
cometh  unto  me  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out.'  Run 
ning  through  all  the  Divine  Word,  is  there  not  a 
perpetual  invitation  to  look  to  Him  and  come  to 
Him  for  refuge,  for  safety,  for  strength,  and  for  sal 
vation  ?" 

"  But  how  is  a  man  to  come,  Mr.  Stannard  ?" 
"  We  begin  to  come  the  moment  we  repent  of  our 
sins  and  look  to  the  Lord  for  strength  to  resist  and 
put  them  away.  We  come  nearer  when  we  obey 
His  command,  '  Cease  to  do  evil.'  Then,  and  only 
then,  do  we  put  it  into  the  Lord's  power  to  save  us. 
*  His  name  shall  be  called  Jesus,  for  He  shall  save 
His  people  from  their  sins.'  But  if  the  people  will 
not  quit  the  evil  of  their  doing,  how  can  He  save 
them  from  the  love  of  evil  doing — which  is  the  true 
salvation  ?  '  Behold  I  stand  at  the  door  and  knock. 
If  any  man  hear  my  voice  and  open  the  door,  I  will 
come  in  to  him.'  Now  what  is  it  that  shuts  the  door 
against  God  ?  Is  it  not  sin ;  the  love  of  self  and 
the  world ;  the  indulgence  of  evil  passions  and 
appetites?  He  cannot  dwell  in  a  heart  where  these 
abide.  They  must  be  cast  out,  and  then  God's  temple 
in  the  human  soul  is  prepared  for  His  entrance." 


AS  BY  FIRE.  183 

"But,"  I  said,  "who  can  cast  them  out  but  God? 
Is  not  this  the  doctrine  of  the  church  ?" 

"  None  but  a  Divine  power,"  Mr.  Stannard  an 
swered,  "  can  remove  the  love  of  sinning.  But  first 
man  of  himself  must  open  the  door  which  evil-doing 
has  barred  against  God." 

"  How  can  this  be  done  ?" 

"  There  is  only  one  way.  He  must  cease  to  do  evil 
because  it  is  a  sin  against  God.  Beyond  this  he  has 
no  power  over  his  corrupt  nature.  He  cannot 
change  his  inner  vileness  into  beauty,  cannot  make 
himself  pure,  cannot  by  good  deeds  enter  the  king 
dom  of  God.  Over  the  external  things  of  thought 
and  act  he  has  power,  but  the  Lord  alone  can  change 
his  inner  affection — take  away  the  heart  of  stone  and 
give  the  heart  of  flesh.  But,  ere  this  can  be  done, 
man  must  not  only  repent  of  his  evil  deeds  because 
they  are  sins,  but  actually  cease  from  doing  them. 
In  the  moment  that  he  does  this  from  a  religious 
principle — that  is  because  to  do  evil  is  contrary  to 
the  Divine  Law,  and  therefore  a  sin  against  God — 
and  looks  to  the  Lord  to  deliver  and  save  him,  in  that 
moment  he  opens  the  door  of  his  heart  for  the  Lord 
to  enter,  and  the  Lord,  who  has  been  knocking  there 
by  His  Divine  Word  and  commandments,  will  surely 
come  in.  And  so  long  as  he  shuns  evils  as  sins  in 
the  external  of  his  life,  is  just,  and  merciful,  and 
humble,  God  will  abide  with  him  and  in  him,  and  he 
shall  walk  as  safely  in  the  midst  of  temptation  as  the 
three  Hebrew  children  in  the  fierv  furnace,  because 

V  ' 

12 


184 


'SAVED 


the  Son  of  God  is  with  him  as  He  was  with 
them." 

"  Not  of  faith  alone,  nor  of  works,  nor  of  merit," 
I  said. 

"  No,  but  of  obedience.  And  in  the  degree  that 
obedience  becomes  perfected,  will  love  become  per 
fected.  In  the  degree  that  a  man  shuns  in  thought 
and  act  the  evils  that  in  any  way  hurt  his  neighbor 
or  do  dishonor  to  God,  in  that  degree  will  the  Lord 
remove  from  his  heart  the  desire  to  do  them,  and 
give  the  affection  of  good  in  their  place." 

"  Going  back  now  to  Mr.  Granger,"  I  said, "  why, 
when  he  put  away  the  evil  of  drinking  for  so  long 
a  time,  was  not  the  desire  for  this  sinful  indulgence 
taken  away?  Did  he  not  open  the  door  for  the 
Lord  to  come  in  ?" 

"We  open  the  door  at  which  the  Lord  stands 
knocking  when  we  see  and  acknowledge  the  evils 
in  our  lives  that  hold  the  door  bolted  and  barred 
against  Him,  and  cease  to  do  them  because  they  are 
sins." 

"  Because  they  are  sins  ?" 

"  Yes.  If  we  cease  to  do  evil  from  any  other  con 
sideration,  we  do  not  open  the  door." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  get  your  meaning,"  said  I. 

"  Take  the  case  of  Granger.  Why  did  he  shun 
the  evil  of  drinking  ?" 

"  Because  he  saw  that  it  was  ruining  him." 

"  That  it  was  a  sin  against  himself  rather  than 
against  God,"  said  Mr.  Stannard. 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

"  What  is  sin  against  God  ?"  I  asked. 

"Any  and  everything  that  man  does  in  opposition 
to  Divine  order." 

"  The  answer  is  too  general,"  I  said. 

"  The  laws  of  this  order  as  applied  to  man  are 
very  simple  and  direct,"  he  returned.  "  Thou  shalt 
love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  thy 
neighbor  as  thyself.  Now,  in  Mr.  Granger's  case, 
did  he  make  an  effort  to  control  his  appetite  for 
drink  because  its  indulgence  was  a  sin  against  the 
true  order  of  his  life  and  turned  him  away  from  all 
just  regard  for  God  and  his  neighbor — thus  a  sin 
against  God  Himself — or,  did  his  thought  reach 
only  to  himself  and  to  his  worldly  loss  or  gain  ?" 

"  I  scarcely  think  his  motive  went  as  far  as  you 
suggest." 

"  If  it  did  not,  how  was  God  to  save  him  ?  If  it 
was  not  the  sin  of  intemperance  that  troubled  him, 
but  only  the  consequences  of  that  sin,  there  could 
be  no  true  repentance  and  humiliation  before  God. 
And  here  let  me  say,  Mr.  Lyon,  that  no  man  can  be 
saved  from  any  particular  evil,  as,  for  instance,  that 
of  drunkenness,  unless  at  the  same  time  he  resist 
and  endeavor  to  put  away  all  other  sins  against  God. 
The  whole  man  must  be  reformed  and  regenerated. 
Everything  forbidden  in  the  Word  of  God  must 
be  put  away  through  the  Divine  strength  given 
to  all  who  earnestly  try  to  keep  the  command 
ments." 

"I  see  your  meaning  more  clearly,"  I  replied 


186 

"  There  must  be  a  new  and  better  life  in  the  whole 


man." 


"  If  not  how  can  God  abide  with  him  and  in 
him?" 

"  Coming  back  again  to  the  case  of  Granger," 
said  I,  "  and  regarding  it  from  your  standpoint,  is 
there  any  possibility  of  a  permanent  reform  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  speak  confidently." 

"  Because  I  have  faith  in  the  Great  Physician  of 
souls.  There  is  a  Divine  healing  power  which  all 
men  may  have  if  they  will." 

"  Nothing  but  a  Divine  power  can  cure  him.  Of 
that  I  am  satisfied." 

"Shall  we  not,  then,  seeing  that  he  has  been 
brought  so  low,  make  an  effort  to  bring  him  under 
the  care  of  this  Great  Physician?  I  have  been 
thinking  about  it  all  day,  and  our  conversation  has 
only  given  strength  to  a  half-formed  purpose  to  visit 
and  make  one  more  effort  to  save  him." 

"  Let  it  be  done  by  all  means,"  I  replied. 

A  gentleman  who  had  known  Mr.  Granger  came 
into  my  office  at  this  moment,  and  when  he  learned 
of  the  utter  debasement  of  the  man,  and  of  our  pur 
pose  to  make  a  new  effort  to  reclaim  him,  said : 
"  Why  not  place  him  in  the  new  Reformatory  Home 
recently  established  in  our  city  ?" 

"Reformation  without  regeneration  will  avail 
nothing  in  his  case,"  returned  Mr.  Stannard.  "  The 
best  reformatory  agencies  known  have  been  tried, 


AS  BY  FIE E.  137 

but  their  influences  proved  only  temporary.  He  was 
at  Binghampton,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  am  aware  of  that.  But  the  institution  to 
which  I  refer,  is  not  an  asylum  for  the  treatment  of 
drunkenness  as  a  disease,  but  a  Christian  Home  in 
which,  while  all  the  physical  needs  of  the  inmates 
are  rightly  cared  for,  an  effort  is  made  to  bring  them 
under  religious  influences,  and  to  lead  them  to  de 
pend  on  God  for  safety." 

"  Is  there  an  institution  like  that  in  our  city  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Stannard,  with  much  interest  in  his  man 
ner.  "  I  never  heard  of  it  before." 

"  It  is  scarcely  a  year  old,"  was  replied.  "  But 
already  the  results  obtained  are  quite  remarkable." 

"  Too  short  a  time  to  predict  much  on  results,"  I 
said.  "  The  reformation  of  a  drunkard  that  dates 
back  no  farther  than  a  year,  gives  little  ground  for 
confidence." 

"  Much  depenas  on  the  basis  of  the  reformation," 
remarked  Mr.  Stannard.  "  Here,  it  strikes  me,  is 
the  true  basis,  and  I  am  ready  to  hope  much.  But 
what  is  the  name  of  this  institution  and  where  is  it 
located?" 

"  You  will  find  it  in  the  very  centre  of  our  city. 
They  call  it  the  Franklin  Reformatory  Home  for 
Inebriates ;  and  from  what  I  have  heard  through  one 
of  the  managers,  whose  heart  is  very  much  in  the 
work,  I  am  led  to  believe  that  in  its  treatment  of 
drunkenness  it  has  discovered  and  is  using  the  only 
true  remedy  for  that  terrible  disease  which  no  medi- 


188  SAVED 

cine  for  the  body  can  ever  radically  cure.  Its  first 
work  is  to  draw  the  poor,  debased  and  degraded  ine 
briate  within  the  circle  of  a  well-ordered  and  cheerful 
home,  and  under  the  influence  of  kind  and  sympa 
thetic  friends.  All  these  have  been  lost  to  him  for 
years ;  so  utterly  lost  that  all  hope  of  their  recovery 
has  died  in  his  heart.  He  is  a  stranger  to  gentle 
words  and  loving  smiles ; — used  only  to  rebuke  and 
blame ;  to  scorn  and  contempt ;  is  alike  despised  of 
himself  and  the  world.  But  here  he  finds  himself 
all  at  once  an  object  of  interest  and  care.  His  hand 
is  taken  in  a  clasp  so  warm  and  true  that  he  feels  the 
thrill  go  down  into  his  heart  and  awaken  old  memo 
ries  of  other  and  dearer  hand-clasps.  His  lost  man 
hood  and  sense  of  respect  are  found  again.  New 
purposes  are  formed  and  old  resolves — broken,  alas! 
so  many  times — renewed  once  more.  He  finds  him 
self  encircled  by  sustaining  influences  of  a  better 
character  than  he  has  known  in  many  years.  Hope 
and  confidence  grow  strong. 

"  But  in  lifting  the  fallen  man  to  this  state  of  life, 
the  Home  has  done  only  its  first  and  least  important 
work  of  reformation.  If  it  were  able  to  do  no  more, 
'  Failure*  would  ultimately  be  written  on  its  walls. 
It  is  organized  for  deeper  and  more  thorough  work- 
is,  in  fact,  a  Church  as  well  as  a  Home,  and  has  its 
chapel  and  its  formal  worship.  When  the  man  is 
restored  and  in  his  right  mind,  an  effort  is  made  to 
lead  him  into  the  conviction  that  in  and  of  himself 
he  cannot  successfully  resist  the  appetite  from  whose 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

slavery  lie  lias  just  escaped.  That  only  in  the  Divine 
power  and  protection  is  there  any  hope  for  him,  and 
that  he  must  seek  this  Divine  power  and  protection 
through  prayer  and  a  living  and  obedient  faith  in 
Christ,  who  saves  to  the  uttermost  all  who  come  to 
Him  and  keep  His  sayings.  He  must  become  a  new 
man.  Must  be  saved  not  only  from  drunkenness, 
but  from  all  other  evils  of  life.  Must  become  sincere, 
and  humble,  and  just,  and  pure,  as  well  as  temperate. 
So  becoming  steadfast  and  immovable." 

A  light  had  kindled  in  Mr.  Stannard's  face.  Turn 
ing  to  me,  he  said  :  "  There  is  hope  for  our  poor 
friend.  He  may  yet  be  saved.  Is  there  not  a  provi 
dence  in  this  thing?" 

"  I  might  say  yes,  if  I  believed  in  special  provi 
dences,"  I  returned. 

"  What  kind  of  a  providence  do  you  believe  in  ?" 
Mr.  Stannard  asked. 

"  In  a  general  overruling  providence,"  I  re 
plied. 

"  Of  a  providence,  for  instance,  that  takes  care  of 
a  man's  whole  body,  but  not  of  his  eye,  or  ear,  or 
heart,  or  any  individual  fibre,  or  nerve,  or  organ  of 
which  his  body  is  composed.  That  takes  care  of  a 
nation,  but  not  of  the  individual  men  composing  that 
nation.  To  have  a  general  providence,  Mr.  Lyon, 
you  must  have  a  particular  providence ;  for  without 
particulars  you  cannot  have  that  which  is  general. 
Believe  me,  that  God's  care  is  over  you  and  me  and 
every  one,  specially  and  at  all  times.  It  would  be 


100 


SAVED 


no  providence  at  all  if  this  were  not  so.  Let  us  th'.nk 
of  it  as  round  about  us  continually,  and  that  if  it 
were  intermitted  for  a  single  moment,  -we  would 
perish.  Let  us  think  of  it  as  the  infinite  Love  which 
is  forever  seeking  to  save  us,  and  forever  adapting 
the  means  to  this  eternal  end." 

"  You  think  more  deeply  about  these  things  than 
I  have  been  in  the  habit  of  doing,  and  may  be  nearer 
right  in  your  views  than  I  am  in  mine.  I  waive,  for 
the  present,  all  controversy  on  the  subject.  As  for 
Mr.  Granger,  let  us  get  him  into  this  Home,  and 
give  him  another  chance.  I  believe  in  the  church, 
and  in  the  power  of  God  to  save  men  from  their  sins. 
And  I  believe  more  in  this  Home,  from  what  I  have 
just  heard  of  it,  than  in  any  and  all  of  the  reformatory 
agencies  in  the  land." 

"  Because  it  is  a  church,  a  true  church,  seeking  to 
gather  poor  lost  and  abandoned  ones  into  the  fold  of 
Christ?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  choose  to  give  that  form  to  the  propo 
sition,"  I  replied. 

"Is  it  not  the  true  form  ?  Can  the  Church  have 
any  higher  mission  than  the  one  to  which  this  Home 
has  consecrated  itself?" 

"  None,"  was  my  answer.  "  And  yet  the  Church 
scarcely  reaches  out  its  hand  to  the  perishing 
inebriate.  Nay,  draws  back  from  him  her  spot 
less  garments,  and  leaves  him  to  perish  in  the 
mire  from  which  her  hands  might  have  raised 
him." 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

"  The  Church  learns  but  slowly,"  Mr.  Stannard 
replied,  speaking  with  a  shade  of  depression  in  his 
voice.  "It  has  been  too  busy  with  creeds  and  hair 
splitting  differences  in  doctrine,  and  with  rituals,  and 
robes,  and  things  external,  to  give  itself  as  it  should 
to  charity.  A  better  day  is  not  far  distant,  I  hope.. 
If,  as  has  been  said,  the  Church  is  the  heart  and 
lungs  of  common  society,  and  if  society  is  terribly 
diseased,  spiritually  as  well  as  morally,  is  not  the 
Church  at  fault  and  responsible  ?  A  healthy  heart 
and  healthy  lungs  should  make  a  healthy  body. 
Before  the  Church  can  heal  the  world  she  must  be 
healed  herself.  She  must  rise  into  the  perception  of 
higher  and  diviner  truths,  and  come  down  into  the 
world  with  a  more  living  power.  It  is  difficult  to 
tell  which  has  the  larger  influence  over  the  other  to 
day,  the  Church  or  the  world.  I  sometimes  fear  it  is 
the  world,  the  Church  is  so  pervaded  with  its  spirit, 
and  fashions,  and  ways  of  doing  things,  with  its 
pride  and  its  vanities.  But  here,  in  this  Home 
of  which  we  have  been  speaking,  we  have,  thank 
God,  the  beginning  of  a  real,  earnest,  working 
Church  that  knows  the  gospel  of  salvation,  and 
is  seeking  by  its  power  to  lift  up  the  fallen,  to 
heal  the  broken-hearted,  and  to  set  the  captive 
free." 

Mr.  Stannard  had  warmed  as  he  spoke,  and  now 
there  was  a  glow  on  his  fine  countenance.  So  inter 
ested  had  we  all  become  in  the  Home  about  which 
we  were  talking,  that  his  suggestion  that  we  should 


SA  VED 

make  a  visit  and  learn  for  ourselves  what  was  being 
done  there,  met  with  a  hearty  concurrence,  and  we 
started  at  once  to  see  and  make  ourselves  better 
acquainted  with  the  character  and  work  of  the  new 
Institution. 


o 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

SELF-TRUST   DEAD. 

the  clay  following  I  met  Mr.  Stannard,  by 
agreement.  We  had  made  arrangements  for 
placing  Granger  in  the  new  Home  as  soon  as  we 
could  get  him  released,  and  thus  give  him  another 
opportunity  to  recover  himself.  All  my  interest  in 
the  man  was  reviving,  and  hope  gaining  strength 
every  moment.  Our  visit  to  the  Reformatory  Home 
had  been  most  satisfactory.  We  found  the  organi 
zation  far  more  perfect  than  we  had  anticipated,  see 
ing  that  the  Institution  was  yet  in  its  infancy.  After 
spending  an  hour  with  the  president,  who  happened 
to  be  there  when  we  called,  and  obtaining  from  him 
all  the  information  desired,  we  made  such  prelimi 
nary  arrangements  as  were  necessary  for  the  admis 
sion  of  Granger,  and  left  with  the  nrw  hope  for  the 
fallen  man,  we  were  about  making  an  attempt  to 
rescue,  growing  stronger  in  our  hearts  every  mo 
ment. 

Before  going  to  the  prison,  we  called  on  the  dis 
trict  attorney,  who,  on  learning  our  purpose,  gave  an 
order  for  Granger's  release,  saying,  as  he  did  so :  "  1 
wish,  gentlemen,  that  I  could  feel  as  hopeful  as  you 
seem  to  be  in  regard  to  the  result.  But  I'm  afraid 
the  case  is  beyond  cure.  Poor  fellow  !  Our  bar  lost 
193 


194 


SA  VED 


one  of  its  brightest  representatives  in  his  fall.  He 
was  a  splendid  orator.  I  can  hear  his  voice,  now, 
ringing  out  in  some  of  his  grand  periods.  Ah,  if 
he  had  but  let  drink  alone !" 

"  If  men  would  only  take  warning  by  a  fall  like 
this,"  said  Mr.  Stannard. 

"  Few  fall  so  rapidly  or  so  low,"  returned  the  dis 
trict  attorney.  "  Some  men  are  weak  in  the  head 
where  liquor  is  concerned,  while  others  can  drink 
on  to  the  end,  always  maintaining  a  due  modera 
tion." 

"  And  every  man  who  drinks  believes  that  he  can 
always  hold  himself  to  this  due  moderation." 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  case  with  most  men ;  but  a  few 
get  over  the  line  before  becoming  aware  that  they 
have  touched  it." 

"  To  find,  like  the  too  venturesome  bather  when 
struck  by  the  undertow,  that  return  is  next  to  im 
possible." 

We  went  from  the  district  attorney's  office  direct 
to  the  prison,  and  were  taken  to  the  cell  where 
Granger  was  confined.  He  was  lying  on  his  bed, 
apparently  sleeping,  but  moved  and  turned  towards 
us  as  we  entered.  At  first  I  though  there  had  been 
ft  mistake.  Could  that  wasted,  haggard  face,  and 
those  large,  deep-set,  dreary  eyes  be  the  face  and 
«yes  of  Alexander  Granger  ?  It  seemed  impossible. 
But  he  had  recognized  us  at  a  glance,  as  I  saw  by 
the  quick  changes  in  his  countenance,  and  made  an 
effort  to  rise ;  but  sunk  back  weakly  on  his  hard 


AS  BY  FIRE.  195 

pallet,  a  feeble  moan  coming  at  the  same  time 
through  his  lips. 

"  My  poor,  unhappy  friend !"  I  said,  in  a  voice  of 
tender  sympathy,  as  I  sat  down  on  the  bed  and  took 
one  of  his  hands  in  mine. 

All  the  muscles  of  his  face  began  to  twitch  and 
quiver.  He  shut  his  eyes  closely,  but  could  not 
hold  back  the  shining  drops  that  were  already 
passing  through  the  trembling  lashes. 

I  waited  a  little  while  before  speaking  again,  but 
kept  tightly  hold  of  his  hand. 

"  Sick  and  in  prison.  My  poor  friend !"  letting 
my  voice  fall  to  a  lower  and  tenderer  expression. 

He  caught  his  breath  with  a  sob.  Tears  fell  over 
his  cheeks.  All  the  muscles  of  his  face  were  shaking. 
I  waited  until  the  paroxysm  was  over.  How  weak 
and  wasted  he  was !  As  I  looked  at  him,  my  heart 
grew  heavy  with  compassion. 

"  There  is  still  a  chance  for  you,  Mr.  Granger," 
said  I,  putting  hope  and  confidence  in  my  voice. 

There  was  no  response ;  not  even  a  faint  gleam 
on  his  wretched  face. 

"  Will  you  not  try  again  ?" 

"  It  won't  be  of  any  use,  Mr.  Lyon.  It's  very 
good  of  you ;  but  it  won't  be  of  any  use."  He  spoke 
feebly  and  mournfully,  moving  his  head  slowly  from 
side  to  side. 

"  It  will  be  of  use.  I  am  sure  that  it  will,"  I  said, 
with  still  more  confidence. 

"  You  don't  know  anything  about  it,  Mr.  Lyon." 


196  SAVED 

His  voice  had  gained  a  steadier  tone ;  but  its  utter 
hopelessness  was  painful. 

"  Here  is  Mr.  Stannard,"  I  said.  "  You  remember 
him." 

"  Yes.  It's  very  good  of  you,  gentlemen.  But 
I  don't  deserve  your  kindness." 

"  We  are  here  as  your  friends,"  said  Mr.  Stannard, 
coming  close  to  the  bed.  "  We  are  going  to  help 
you  to  get  upon  your  feet  again,  and  to  become  a 
new  man." 

He  shook  his  head  gloomily. 

"  I've  done  trying.  What's  the  use  of  a  man 
attempting  to  climb  a  hill  when  he  knows  that  his 
strength  must  give  out  before  he  reaches  the  top, 
and  that  he  will  get  bruised  and  broken  in  the  inev 
itable  fall.  Better  die  in  the  ditch  at  the  bottom,  as 
I  shall  die." 

He  had  raised  himself  a  little,  and  was  leaning 
on  his  arm. 

"  You  have  been  sick,"  said  I,  wishing  to  take  his 
mind  away  from  the  thought  which  was  then  hold 
ing  it. 

"  Yes,  worse  than  sick.  I've  been  in  hell  and 
among  devils." 

"  But  have  escaped  with  your  life." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure.  It's  about  over  with  me,  I 
guess.  You  see  there's  not  much  left  to  go  and 
come  on." 

He  held  up  one  of  his  thin,  almost  transparent 
hands,  but  could  not  keep  it  steady. 


Yes.  worse  than  sick,  I've  been  in  hell  and  among  devils."— Page  199. 


AS  BY  FIRE., 

"  Don't  say  that.  There's  to  be  a  new  life  within 
and  without." 

"  Not  for  me.  Not  for  Alexander  Granger.  Bo 
you  know  what  I  am  here  for  ?"  A  dark  cloud  fall 
ing  on  his  face.  "  For  stealing ! — for  petty  larceny ! 
You  see  it's  all  over  with  me.  The  very  shame  of 
the  thing  is  burning  my  life  out.  A  thief!  No,  no, 
gentlemen.  Even  if  I  were  able  to  stand  against 
appetite,  I  could  not  bear  up  under  a  disgrace 
like  this." 

"  It  was  not  Alexander  Granger  who  committed 
this  crime,"  answered  Mr.  Stannard,  "  but  the  in 
satiate  demon  who  had  enslaved  him  and  made  him 
subject  to  his  will.  Let  us  cast  out  this  demon  and 
give  the  true,  generous-hearted,  honorable  man  back 
to  himself  and  society  again.  It  is  for  this  that  we 
are  here,  Mr.  Granger." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  If,  in  the  full  vigor  of  man 
hood,  I  was  not  able  to  overcome  and  cast  out  this 
demon,  what  hope  is  there  now  ? '  It  were  folly  to 
make  the  effort.  No,  no,  gentlemen.  I  give  up  the 
struggle.  All  that  is  worth  living  for  is  gone.  An 
utterly  disgraced  and  degraded  man,  what  is  left  for 
me  but  to  die  and  be  forgotten  ?  And  I  shall  be 
better  here,  dying  sober,  than  in  the  gutter  or  the 
station-house,  dying  drunk." 

His  voice  trembled,  and  then  broke  in  a  repressed 
sob. 

"  There  is  One  who  can  and  who  will  save  you, 
even  from  the  power  of  this  strong  appetite  which 


200  SA  VED 

has  so  cursed  you,  my  friend,"  said  Mr.  Stannard, 
speaking  with  a  gentle  persuasion  in  his  tones,  and 
at  the  same  time  laying  his  hand  softly  on  Granger's 
head.  "  lie  is  very  near  to  you  now — a  loving 
Shepherd  seeking  for  His  lost  sheep  in  the  desolate 
wilderness,  where  it  is  ready  to  perish." 

Then,  kneeling,  with  his  hand  still  on  Granger's 
head,  he  prayed  in  a  low,  hushed  voice : 

"  Loving  Father,  tender  Shepherd.  This  Thy 
poor  wandering  sheep  is  hungry  and  faint  and  ready 
to  die.  His  flesh  has  been  torn  by  the  thorn  and 
bramble;  the  wild  beast  has  been  after  him,  and 
the  poison  of  serpents  is  in  his  blood.  No  help  is 
left  but  in  Thee,  and  unless  Thy  strong  arm  save 
him  he  will  surely  perish.  Draw  his  heart  toward 
Thee.  Give  him  to  feel  that  in  Thee  alone  is  hope 
and  safety.  In  his  helplessness  and  despair,  let  faith 
and  trust  be  quickened.  Thou  canst  save  him  from 
the  power  of  this  demon  of  drink.  Thou  canst  set 
him  in  a  safe  way,  and  keep  him  from  falling  again. 
Give  him  to  feel  this  great  truth,  that  if  he  cast 
himself  at  Thy  feet  and  cry  from  his  sick  and  faint 
ing  heart, '  Save  me,  Lord  !'  Thou  wilt  hear  and  save." 

Can  I  ever  forget  the  almost  despairing  cry  for 
help  that  was  in  Granger's  voice  as  he  repeated  the 
words,  "  Save  me,  Lord !"  throwing  his  hands  above 
his  head  as  he  spoke,  and  lifting  his  eyes  upwards  ? 
A  strange  thrill  ran  along  my  nerves. 

"  He  will  save  you,"  said  Mr.  Stannard,  as  he  rose 
from  his  knees.  "  Trust  in  Him,  and  He  will  give 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  201 

you  strength  to  overcome  all  your  enemies.  Though 
your  sins  be  as  scarlet,  He  will  make  them  white  as 
wrool.  They  that  trust  in  the  Lord  shall  be  as 
Mount  Zion  which  cannot  be  removed,  but  abideth 
forever.  As  the  mountains  are  round  about  Jeru 
salem,  so  the  Lord  is  round  about  His  people." 

I  saw  a  change  in  Granger's  face.  It  was  grow 
ing  calmer  and  stronger. 

"  There  is  a  new  life  before  you,  my  friend ;  and 
if  you  will  look  to  God,  and  trust  Him,  and  keep 
His  words,  you  can  live  that  life  in  safety.  Will 
you  try  ?" 

"  If  I  thought  there  was  any  use  in  trying.  But 
what  can  I  do?  Where  can  I  go?" 

There  was  a  pleading  expression  in  look  and  voice 

"Will  you  try?" 

"  Yes,  God  helping  me."  He  spoke  with  a  kind 
of  trembling  earnestness. 

"  We  have  a  carriage  outside,"  I  said.  You  will 
go  with  us  ?" 

"  How  can  I  go  ?     I'm  a  prisoner." 

"A  prisoner  no  longer.  We  have  brought  you  a 
release." 

"  Is  this  only  a  dream  ?"  he  said,  looking  at  us 
with  a  gathering  doubt  in  his  face.  "  But  I  am  sick 
and  weak.  I  cannot  walk.  I  can  scarcely  stand, 
I  am  not  fit  to  go  anywhere." 

He  was  taken  to  the  carriage  we  had  in  waiting, 
supported  by  two  of  the  keepers.  But  few  words1 
passed  as  we  drove  into  the  city  and  over  the  rattling 
13 


202  SA  VED 

streets  to  the  institution  where  we  had  arranged  to 
place  him.  He  was  very  weak,  and  almost  in  a 
fainting  condition  when  we  reached  our  destination. 
Beyond  the  door  our  care  of  him  ceased ;  but  we 
left  money  to  procure  clean  clothing  with  which  to 
replace,  after  he  had  received  a  bath,  the  poor, 
tattered  and  unclean  garments  that  were  on  his 
person. 

"  If  this  fail,  all  fails,"  I  said  to  Mr.  Stannard,  as 
we  came  away. 

"  I  do  not  believe  it  will  fail,"  he  replied. 

"  I  would  gladly  share  your  confidence,  but  confess 
that  I  do  not.  The  influences  under  which  he  will 
now  come,  are,  I  can  see,  more  favorable  than  any 
that  have  heretofore  been  brought  to  bear  upon  him  ; 
but  there  has  been  so  great  a  physical  and  moral 
deterioration  that  I  fear  he  can  never  get  back  the 
strength  required  for  safe  standing  and  sure  resist 
ance. 

"  He  is  stronger,  in  my  opinion,  to-day  than  he 
has  been  at  any  time  in  the  last  ten  years." 

"  I  scarcely  see  the  ground  of  your  confidence," 
said  I. 

"  Stronger  because  all  faith  and  all  trust  in  himself 
are  dead.  He  had  given  up  the  struggle  when  we 
found  him  in  prison — given  up  to  die,  and  his  '  Save 
me,  Lord  F  came  from  the  depths  of  his  utter  despair. 
There  will  be  no  more  trust  in  himself,  I  think ;  no 
more  matching  of  his  weakness  against  the  giant 
strength  of  an  enemy  before  whose  lightest  blow  he 


AS  BY  FIRE.  203 

must  surely  fall.  But  a  complete  giving  of  himself 
into  the  care  and  protection  of  One  who  is  not  only 
mighty  to  save,  but  who  saves  to  the  uttermost  all 
who  come  unto  Him.  Herein  lies  the  ground  of  my 
confidence." 

"In  such  a  giving  up,  Mr.  Stannard,  what  becomes 
of  the  manhood  ?  Is  it  wholly  lost  ?" 

"  It  is  in  this  surrender  of  ourselves  to  God  that 
a  higher  and  truer  manhood  is  born.  What  is  it  to 
be  a  true  man  ?  To  let  the  appetites  and  passions 
rule ;  or  the  reason,  which,  enlightened  from  above, 
can  see  and  determine  what  is  just,  and  pure,  and 
merciful.  Does  the  man  possess  himself  so  long 
as  he  lets  the  lower  things  of  his  nature  rule  over 
the  higher? — his  appetites  and  passions  over  his 
rational  ?  The  whole  order  of  man's  life  has  been 
reversed  by  sin.  He  has  turned  from  God  to  him 
self,  and  vainly  thinks  that  true  manhood  consists 
in  self-dependence  and  self-assertion ;  as  though  his 
inmost  life  were  his  own,  and  not  the  perpetual  gift 
of  God.  And  so  he  tries  to  get  as  far  away  from 
God  as  possible,  and  to  make  a  new  life  for  himself; 
and  as  this  new  life  begins  in  self,  it  is  in  the  nature 
of  things,  a  selfish  life,  and  separates  him  from  God 
and  his  neighbor.  And  he  lives  this  life  down  in  the 
lower  regions  of  his  mind,  where  sensual  things 
reside — the  appetites,  the  passions  and  the  con 
cupiscences.  Is  it  any  wonder  that,  so  living,  these 
sensual  things  should  gain  dominion  over  him — a 
dominion  that  nothing  short  of  Divine  power  can 


204  SAVED 

break  ?  Herein  lies  the  loss  of  true  manhood,  which 
can  only  be  restored  when  we  are  willing  to  sell  all 
that  we  have  of  self  in  order  to  buy  heavenly  treas 
ures.  Granger  is  not  going  to  lose,  but  gain  his 
manhood." 

"Ah,  what  a  gain  that  would  be !"  I  felt  oppressed 
with  the  inflowing  pressure  of  new  thoughts.  I  was 
beginning  to  see,  dimly,  how  two  men  might  pray 
to  God  to  be  delivered  from  evil,  and  the  prayer  of 
one  be  answered,  while  that  of  the  other  proved  of 
no  avail.  Until  a  man  is  ready  to  give  up  his 
selfish  life,  and  turn  wholly  from  the  evil  of  his 
ways,  how  can  God  help  him  to  live  the  new  and 
diviner  life  which  will  give  him  power  to  hold  all 
the  appetites  and  passions  of  his  nature  in  due 
subjection  and  control.  I  saw  for  the  first  time  an 
exact  parallelism  between  spiritual  and  natural 
things.  A  vessel  must  be  emptied  of  one  substance 
before  it  can  be  filled  with  another.  So  must  a  soul 
be  emptied  of  evil  and  selfishness  before  it  can  be 
filled  with  love  to  God  and  the  neighbor.  There 
must  be  poverty  of  spirit  before  the  riches  of  Divine 
grace  can  be  given.  "  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit : 
for  theirs  is  the  kingdom  of  Heaven."  The  text 
flashed  upon  me  with  a  new  and  deeper  meaning 
than  it  had  ever  before  brought  to  my  mind. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AT  THE  REFORMATORY. 

ON  the  following  day  I  went  to  see  Granger  at 
the  Reformatory  Home.  I  found  him  in  a 
clean,  well-furnished  and  cheerful  room.  He  wa? 
in  bed,  looking  very  pale ;  but  his  eyes  were  clear 
and  bright,  and  he  welcomed  me  with  a  smile  that 
played  softly  over  his  wasted  features,  and  gave 
them  a  touch  of  their  old  fine  quality.  A  book  lay 
open  on  the  bed.  I  saw  that  it  was  a  copy  of  the 
New  Testament.  His  manner  was  very  subdued, 
and  he  did  not  speak  until  after  I  was  seated  ;  and 
then  not  until  I  had  asked  how  he  was  feeling. 
His  answer  almost  gave  me  a  start,  it  was  so  un 
expected.  He  spoke  in  a  low  but  even  voice. 

"As  if  I  were  standing  just  inside  the  gate  of 
Heaven." 

I  waited  for  a  few  moments  before  replying,  for  I 
scarcely  knew  what  to  say ;  then  remarked  :  "  I  am 
glad  you  feel  so  comfortable.  This  is  better  than 
the  station-house  or  the  prison." 

The  light  went  out  of  his  face,  but  came  back 
quickly. 

"  But  for  you,  my  kind  friend,  I  should  now  be 
dying  in  the  cell  from  which  you  and  good  Mr. 

Stannard  brought  me  yesterday.     It  was  God  who 

205 


206  SAVED 

sent  you ;  and  it  seems  as  if  I  shall  never  be  done 
thanking  Him.  My  poor  heart  broke  all  down  when 
Mr.  Stannard  prayed  for  me.  It  seemed  as  if  God 
were  all  at  once  bending  right  over  me,  and  when  I 
cried  out  to  Him  in  my  helplessness,  I  had  a  feeling 
as  if  His  arms  were  reached  out  and  I  taken  into 
them.  And  I  believe  it  was  so." 

"  May  they  ever  be  round  about  you,"  I  replied, 
scarcely  able  to  keep  my  voice  steady,  for  I  was  not 
prepared  for  this,  and  it  affected  me  strangely. 

"  Nothing  less  can  save  me  from  the  assaults  of 
my  enemy,"  he  said,  his  countenance  growing  more 
serious. 

I  remained  with  him  for  half  an  hour,  and  when 
I  left,  my  confidence  in  this  new  effort  at  reforma 
tion  was  greatly  increased.  An  incident  of  the  visit 
gave  me  large  encouragement.  As  I  sat  talking  with 
him  there  came  a  rap  on  the  door,  and  then  a  lady, 
in  company  with  the  matron  of  the  Institution,  en 
tered.  I  knew  her  well  by  sight.  She  was  related 
to  a  family  of  high  social  standing ;  and  while  a 
woman  of  refinement  and  intelligence,  and  an  orna 
ment  to  the  circle  in  which  she  moved,  was  largely 
given  to  good  works.  Her  hand  as  well  as  her  heart 
were  in  many  charities.  She  had  often  met  Mr. 
Granger  and  his  wife  in  their  better  days,  and  was 
among  those  who  had  been  deeply  pained  at  his 
downfall.  A  member  of  the  Auxiliary  Board  of 
Lady  Managers,  she  had  learned  on  her  visit  to  the 
Home  that  Mr.  Granger  was  there,  and  all  her  in- 


AS  BY  FIRE.  207 

terest  was  at  once  awakened.  To  save  him  and 
restore  him  to  his  family  and  society,  was  something 
to  be  hoped  for,  and  prayed  for,  and  worked  for ; 
and  she,  lost  no  time  in  seeing  him,  and  letting  him 
feel  the  warmth  of  her  interest  in  his  welfare. 

I  was  talking  with  Granger,  as  just  said,  when 
this  lady,  whom  I  will  call  Mrs.  Ellis,  entered  his 
neat  little  chamber.  He  knew  her,  of  course,  and  I 
saw  a  slight  tinge  of  color  steal  over  his  pale  face  as 
she  came  to  the  bedside. 

"  I  am  right  glad  to  see  you  here,  Mr.  Granger," 
she  said,  with  an  interest  so  genuine  that  it  affected  me. 

"  And  I  am  glad  to  be  here,  Mrs.  Ellis,"  he  re 
plied,  in  a  voice  subdued  but  earnest.  "  It  is  like 
coming  out  of  hell  into  Heaven." 

"  May  it  indeed  be  as  the  gate  of  Heaven  to  your 
soul,"  she  responded.  "  If  that  be  so,  all  will  be 
well  with  you  again.  And  I  pray  for  you  that  it 
may  be  so.  Only  look  to  the  blessed  Saviour  and 
trust  in  Him,  and  you  shall  be  as  Mount  Zion,  which 
cannot  be  removed." 

She  remained  only  for  a  few  minutes,  but  said  as 
she  was  going  out:  "Yon  are  now  among  true  friends, 
Mr.  Granger,  and  they  will  do  everything  in  their 
power  to  help  you.  Take  heart ;  it  is  all  going  to 
come  out  right  again." 

He  was  much  affected  by  this  brief  visit,  and  after 
Mrs.  Ellis  had  left  the  room  said,  in  a  half -wonder 
ing  tone  of  voice :  "  I  can  hardly  understand  it  all. 
What  is  she  doing  here  ?" 


203 


SAVED 


I  explained  to  him  that  she  was  one  of  the  Lady 
Managers  of  the  Institution,  through  whose  constant 
care  and  supervision  the  highest  comfort  of  the  in 
mates  was  secured.  That  the  presence  of  these  ladies 
in  the  Home,  as  visitors  and  supervisors,  enabled 
them  to  gain  an  influence  with  the  inmates  that  was 
very  helpful.  They  made  themselves  acquainted,  as 
far  as  possible,  with  the  nature  of  their  domestic  re 
lations,  if  they  had  families,  and  if  their  families 
were  in  destitute  circumstances,  visited  them  and  did 
whatever  lay  in  their  power  to  help  them.  Many 
desolate  homes  had  already  been  made  bright  and 
happy  through  their  agency. 

Granger  listened  with  half-closed  lids  while  I 
spoke  of  all  this.  A  deep  sigh  was  his  only  response 
when  I  ceased  speaking.  His  thoughts  had  evidently 
drifted  out  of  the  room  in  which  he  was  lying,  and 
gone  far  away  from  the  Home.  I  did  not  break  the 
spell  of  thought  that  was  upon  him,  but  waited  until 
he  came  back  to  himself  again. 

"  It  seems  still  as  if  I  were  only  dreaming,"  he 
said,  lifting  his  eyes  at  length  and  looking  at  me  with 
a  kind  of  wistful  earnestness.  "As  if  I  would  awaken 
at  any  moment  into  the  old,  dreadful  life." 

"You  may  dream  this  dream  to  the  erd  if  you 
will,"  I  replied. 

"  God  keep  me  from  waking !"  He  gave  a  slight 
shiver  as  he  said  this. 

At  my  next  visit  I  found  Granger  well  enough  to 
be  down  stairs.  He  was  in  the  reading-room  talking 


AS  BY  FIRE.  209 

with  an  intelligent-looking  man,  whose  face  I  recog 
nized  as  one  with  which  I  was  familiar.  I  did  not 
at  first  know  this  man,  but  when  he  reached  out  his 
hand  and  called  me  by  name,  his  voice  brought  him 
to  my  recollection.  He  had  once  been  a  merchant, 
standing  at  the  head  of  a  firm  doing  a  large  busi 
ness  ;  but  wine,  the  mocker,  had  betrayed  him, 
and  he  had  fallen  into  hopelessly  dissolute  habits. 
When  I  last  saw  him  he  was  staggering  on  the 
street. 

"  Why,  Lawrence !"  I  exclaimed,  in  pleased  sur 
prise.  "  You  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  here,  friend  Lyon.  And  here  is  our 
old  friend  Granger.  You  remember  him." 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  taking  the  hand  of  Mr.  Gran 
ger  as  I  spoke,  who  gave  me  back  a  silent  pressure. 

I  looked  at  the  two  men,  wondering  at  the  change 
which  had  been  wrought  in  them ;  noticing,  as  I 
have  had  occasion  to  notice  many  times  since,  the 
quick  restoration  of  the  face,  after  drink  is  aban 
doned,  to  something  of  its  old,  true  character. 

We  sat  down  and  had  a  long  talk.  Mr.  Lawrence 
informed  me  that  he  had  been  there  about  five 
weeks,  and  was  now  holding  the  position  of  book 
keeper  in  the  store  of  one  of  the  directors  of  the 
Home,  but  still  boarded  in  the  Institution,  as  he  felt 
that  he  needed  all  the  help  it  could  give  him.  He 
had  been  separated  for  over  two  years  from  his  wife, 
who  was  now  living  in  a  distant  city ;  but  he  had 
already  written  to  her,  telling  the  good  news  of  his 


210 

reformation,  and  of  his  purpose,  by  God's  help,  to 
keep  himself  forever  free  from  his  old  habits. 

"  And  here's  a  letter  from  her  that  I  received  to 
day,"  he  said,  as  he  took  an  envelope  from  his  pocket, 
with  an  almost  child-like  exhibition  of  pleasure. 
"  And  she  writes  that  she'll  be  here  in  two  weeks. 
She  was  always  so  good  and  so  true,  and  she  stayed 
by  me  until  it  was  of  no  use.  Poor  Helen  !" 

I  did  not  wonder  at  the  dimness  that  came  over 
his  eyes ;  nor  at  the  break  and  gurgle  in  his  voice. 

"  But  it  shall  never  so  be  again,"  he  went  on. 
after  a  little  pause.  "  I  trusted  in  myself,  and  did 
not  care  for  God.  He  was  never  in  my  thoughts. 
But  I  have  found  a  better  way  since  I  came  here, 
and  One  who  will  keep  me  in  that  way  if  I  look  to 
Him — walking  always  by  my  side.  So  long  as  I 
put  my  trust  in  Him,  I  shall  be  safe,  but  not  for  a 
moment  longer." 

I  was  looking  at  Granger,  and  saw  that  his  gaze 
was  fixed  intently  on  Mr.  Lawrence.  His  eyes  were 
a  little  dilated  and  there  was  a  shade  of  sadness  on 
his  countenance.  He  did  not  take  any  part  in  the 
conversation.  When  an  opportunity  came  for  us  to 
be  alone,  and  I  could  ask  more  particularly  about 
him,  his  manner  changed  and  brightened ;  but  was 
more  subdued  than  on  the  occasion  of  my  previous 
visit. 

"  You  are  looking  so  much  better,"  I  said,  "  and 
are  feeling,  of  course,  as  well  as  you  look." 

"  I  hope  so,"  he  answered,  quietly.     Then,  after 


AS  BY  FIRE.  211 

a  slight  pause :  "  If  one  could  only  stop  thinking 
sometimes." 

"  Right  thinking  is  the  way  to  right  acting,"  I 
replied,  speaking  in  an  aphorism,  because  I  was  not 
sure  as  to  what  was  in  his  thought,  nor  how  my 
answer  might  be  taken. 

"  If  it  were  as  easy  to  do  right  as  to  think  right, 
living  in  this  world  would  be  safer  than  it  is.  But 
that  is  not  what  I  meant.  It  is  the  trouble  of  un 
availing  thought  to  which  I  refer.  Ah  !  if  I  could 
only  stop  this  kind  of  thinking  for  awhile.  If  I 
could  only  bury  the  past  out  of  sight !" 

"  If  your  future  be  as  the  verdure  of  spring  and 
the  fruitfulness  of  summer,  the  past  will  ere  long  bo 
covered,  as  the  earth  after  a  desolate  winter  is  covered 
with  greenness  and  beauty.  The  influx  of  life  into 
what  is  orderly  and  good  is  quick  and  strong.  You 
are  already  beginning  to  feel  this  influx,  my  friend. 
May  it  have  steady  increase." 

A  man  came  into  the  room  where  we  sat  convers 
ing,  and,  after  taking  a  book  from  the  library,  went 
out.  I  noticed  that  he  had  an  intelligent  face,  and 
an  air  of  refinement,  but  looked  wasted  and  broken 
as  though  just  risen  from  a  severe  illness. 

"  That  is  Dr.  E ,"  said  Granger.  "  He  had 

a  large  practice  in  our  city  a  few  years  ago,  but  lost 
it  on  account  of  intemperance.  His  family  was 
broken  up  at  last — wife  and  children  being  com 
pelled  to  leave  him.  This  breaking  up  of  his  family 
and  separation  from  his  wife  and  children  so  affected 


212  SAVED 

him  that  he  quit  drinking  and  started  off  for  a 
western  city,  in  order  to  get  away  from  old  associa 
tions,  there  to  begin  life  anew,  and  make  for  his 
family  another  home  into  which  the  old  blight  and 
curse  should  never  come.  But  this  change  did  not 
take  him  out  of  the  sphere  of  temptation,  nor  dimin 
ish  the  strength  of  his  appetite.  He  fought  allure 
ment  and  desire  for  awhile,  and  then  yielded,  little 
by  little  at  a  time,  still  fighting,  but  steadily  losing 
the  power  to  resist,  until  he  was  down  again.  That 
was  five  years  ago.  Falling  and  rising ;  now  strug 
gling  for  the  mastery  over  his  appetite,  and  now  in 
its  toils  again ;  now  taking  his  place  in  respectable 
society,  and  now  rejected  and  despised;  never  stand 
ing  firm  for  longer  than  a  few  months  at  a  time— 
the  years  since  then  have  passed.  Two  weeks  ago 
he  came  drifting  back  to  his  native  city,  a  poor, 
helpless,  broken  wreck,  with  a  vague  impression  on 
his  mind  that  he  was  being  impelled  hither  by  a 
force  he  could  not  resist.  He  came,  as  a  drifting 
wreck,  wholly  purposeless.  Let  me  tell  you  the 
story  of  what  followed,  just  as  he  told  it  to  me.  I 
give  you  his  own  words  as  near  as  I  can  remember 
them.  He  said : 

"  '  A  man  in  Pittsburg,  to  whom  I  told  a  plausible 
story,  in  which  was  not  a  single  word  of  truth,  got 
a,  pass  for  me  on  the  railroad  to  this  city,  and  gave 
me  two  dollars  with  which  to  get  something  to  eat 
on  the  way.  The  first  thing  I  did,  after  parting 
from  him,  was  to  buy  a  bottle  of  whisky.  With  this 


AS  BY  FIRE.  213 

as  my  companion,  I  took  my  seat  in  the  second-class 
car  to  which  my  pass  assigned  me  and  started  on  my 
journey  eastward.  The  bottle  was  empty  before  half 
the  distance  had  been  made.  It  was  filled  at  one  of 
the  stopping  places,  and  emptied  again  before  the 
trip  was  completed.  So  drunk  that  I  could  not 
walk  steadily,  I  was  thrust  out  of  the  car  by  a  break- 
man  on  the  arrival  of  the  train  at  midnight,  and  sent 
into  the  street  homeless  and  friendless.  I  still  had 
forty  cents  in  my  pocket,  and  might  have  procured 
a  night's  lodging,  but  I  preferred  the  station-house 
to  a  comfortable  bed,  in  order  that  I  might  have  the 
means  of  getting  my  drink  in  the  morning.  When 
morning  came,  I  made  a  narrow  escape  from  a  com 
mitment  to  the  county  prison  for  drunkenness  and 
vagrancy,  but  got  off  with  a  reprimand  and  a  warn 
ing.  At  a  cheap  restaurant  I  spent  fifteen  cents  for 
a  breakfast,  and  ten  -cents  for  something  to  wash  it 
down.  In  less  than  an  hour  afterwards  the  remain 
ing  fifteen  cents  had  disappeared,  and  I  was  the 
worse  for  three  glasses  of  bad  whisky. 

" '  Aimless  and  miserable,  I  wandered  about  for 
the  whole  of  that  day ;  spending  the  greater  part  of 
my  time  in  bar-rooms,  in  the  hope  of  being  asked  by 
somebody  to  drink.  My  thirst  was  growing  intense. 
I  was  beginning  to  feel  desperate.  Late  in  the  after 
noon  I  went  into  a  saloon  and  going  up  to  the  bar, 
called  for  a  glass  of  whisky,  making  a  motion  with 
my  hand  as  if  I  were  going  to  take  money  from  my 
pocket.  The  bar- keeper  eyed  me  sharply  for  a  mo- 


SAVED 

ment  or  two,  and  then  gave  me  the  liquor  for  which 
I  had  called.  It  was  at  my  mouth  and  down  my 
throat  with  the  quickness  of  a  flash.  I  knew  by  the 
man's  face  that  he  would  kick  me  out  of  the  saloon, 
but  what  cared  I  for  that!  My  fumbling  in  my 
pockets,  and  turning  them  inside  out,  and  my  call 
ing  on  God  to  witness  that  I  had  money  when  I 
came  in,  did  not  save  me.  I  was  collared  and 
dragged  to  the  door,  and  then  kicked  into  the  street. 
As  I  fell  on  the  pavement,  a  crowd  of  boys  jeered 
me,  and  when  I  attempted  to  rise,  pushed  me  over. 
A  friendly  policeman  saved  me  from  their  farther 
persecutions. 

"  '  I  was  not  drunk.  The  glass  of  whisky  which 
I  had  taken  did  nothing  more  than  give  a  little 
steadiness  to  my  nerves.  As  I  arose  from  the  pave 
ment,  assisted  by  the  policeman,  I  saw  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street  a  face  that  made  my  heart  stand 
still.  A  young  girl  had  stopped,  and  was  looking 
across  at  me  with  a  half-startled,  half-pitiful  expres 
sion.  It  was  my  own  daughter,  whom  I  had  not 
seen  for  five  years.  A  little  girl  of  twelve  when  I 
last  saw  her,  she  was  now  a  tall  and  beautiful  young 
lady  in  her  eighteenth  year.  Her  dress  was  plain, 
but  very  neat,  and  she  looked  as  if  she  might  be  on 
her  way  home  from  some  store,  or  office,  or  manu 
factory,  in  which  she  was  earning  a  livelihood. 
Scarcely  had  I  recognized  her,  ere  she  turned  and 
went  on  her  way.  But  it  seemed  as  if  I  could  not 
let  her  go  out  of  my  sight.  As  though  some  strong 


AS  BY  FIRE.  215 

invisible  chords  were  drawing  me,  I  started  after 
her,  keeping  so  close  that  her  form  was  always  in 
view.  So  I  followed,  now  within  a  few  paces,  and 
now  farther  behind,  lest  she  might  turn  and  recog 
nize  me,  until  we  had  gone  for  a  distance  of  seven 
or  eight  blocks.  Then  she  passed  lightly  up  to  the 
door  of  a  house,  and  after  ringing  the  bell,  turned 
her  face  while  she  stood  waiting,  so  that  I  could  see 
it  again.  It  came  to  me  like  a  gleam  of  sunlight. 
But  in  a  moment  after  the  sweet  vision  was  gone, 
and  I  stood  in  outer  darkness. 

" '  I  lingered  about  the  neighborhood  until  the 
fast  failing  twilight  was  gone.  Night  shut  in  ;  the 
lamps  were  lighted,  and  the  hurrying  sound  of  home 
ward  feet  became  almost  silent.  And  still  I  lingered. 
Inside  were,  I  believed,  the  wife  and  children  I  had 
once  so  loved  and  tenderly  cared  for ;  and  I  stood  on 
the  outside,  an  alien  to  the  love  which  had  once 
been  given  me  in  lavish  return.  Twice  I  ascended 
the  steps  and  laid  my  hand  on  the  bell,  but  turned 
each  time  and  went  back  without  ringing  it.  I  will 
go  away,  I  said,  and  make  myself  more  fitted  to 
come  into  their  presence.  But  where  was  I  to  go  ? 
Friendless  and  penniless,  soiled  and  tattered,  who 
would  take  me  in  ?  And  then  there  rushed  upon 
me  such  an  overwhelming  sense  of  helplessness  and 
degradation,  and  of  the  utter  folly  of  any  new  at 
tempt  to  lead  a  better  life,  that  the  very  blackness 
of  despair  came  down  upon  my  soul !  Better  die ! 
said  a  voice  within  me.  Better  take  the  chances  of 


216 


SA  VED 


the  life  to  come  than  the  certain  misery  of  this, 
God  is  more  merciful  than  man.  I  hearkened 
to  this  voice.  A  single  plunge  in  the  river,  and  all 
would  be  over.  I  felt  the  waters  closing  about  me, 
and  the  rest  and  peace  of  their  dark  oblivious  depths. 
I  was  sitting  on  the  curb-stone  with  my  face  buried 
in  my  hands,  when  this  purpose  was  reached,  and 
was  about  rising  to  put  it  into  execution,  when  a 
hand  was  laid  on  my  shoulder,  and  a  voice,  whose 
tones  sent  a  thrill  through  me,  said :  "  You  seem  to 
be  in  trouble,  my  friend."  It  was  the  voice  of  a  man 
whose  family  physician  I  had  been  more  than  ten 
years  before,  and  its  sound  was  as  familiar  to  my 
ears  as  if  no  time  had  intervened  since  I  heard  it 
last.  I  could  not  move.  A  great  weight  seemed 
holding  me  down.  "Are  you  sick?"  The  voice 
was  even  kinder  than  at  first.  "  Yes,"  I  replied. 
"  Sick  with  an  incurable  disease." 

" '  He  did  not  speak  again  for  several  moments. 
Then  he  said,  in  a  voice  full  of  mingled  compassion 

and  surprise ;  "  Dr.  R !  Can  it  indeed  be  you  ?" 

"  All  that  is  left  of  me,"  I  returned,  not  looking  up 
or  attempting  to  rise.  "  Sick,  but  not  with  an  in 
curable  disease,  Dr.  II —  — ,"  he  said,  after  a  brief 
pause.  "  There  is  a  Physician  who  can  cure  all 
manner  of  sickness.  He  can  make  the  lame  walk, 
the  deaf  hear,  the  blind  see,  and  bring  even  the 
dead  to  life.  Come  to  this  good  Physician,  my  old 
friend,  and  be  healed  of  your  malady." 

"  *  How  strange  and  new  this  sounded — almost  as 


AS  BY  FIRE.  217 

much  so  as  if  I  bad  never  before  heard  of  this  Phy 
sician  ;  and  in  fact,  so  far  as  any  conscious  need  of 
Him  was  concerned,  I  never  had.  Sickness  of  the 
soul  and  the  healing  of  spiritual  diseases  had  been 
to  me  little  more  than  figures  of  speech ;  and  my 
idea  of  a  Physician  of  souls  had  rarely  lifted  itself 
above  the  thought  of  a  vague  symbolism  that  might 
mean  anything  or  nothing.  But  now  there  was  in 
it  something  tangible ;  the  impression  of  a  real  per 
sonality  ;  and  my  poor,  despairing  heart  began  to 
turn  and  lift  itself,  and  to  feel  in  its  dead  hopes  the 
feeble  motions  of  a  new  life.  And  when  he  said 
again,  "  Come,  my  old  friend,  come  to  this  good 
Physician,"  and  drew  upon  my  arm,  I  got  up  from 
the  curb-stone  on  which  I  was  sitting,  and  stood 
cowering  and  trembling  in  my  shame  and  weakness, 
dimly  wondering  as  to  how  and  where  this  Physician 
was  to  be  found.  "  And  now,  doctor,"  he  said,  "  do 
you  really  wish  to  be  saved  from  the  power  of  this 
dreadful  appetite  ?"  "  I  would  rather  drown  myself 
than  continue  any  longer  in  this  awful  bondage,"  I 
replied. 

" '  And  then  I  iold  him  how  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  to  gain  deliverance  through  the  desperate 
means  of  suicide.  "  My  poor  friend,"  he  answered, 
"  there  is  a  safer  and  better  way.  Come  with  me." 

"  '  I  did  not  hesitate,  but  went  with  him.     As  we 

walked,  he  told  me  of  this  Christian  Home,  and  said 

that  if  I  would  enter  it  and  make  use  of  all  the 

means  of  reformation  to  which  it  would  introduce 

14 


218 

me,  I  might  hope  to  be  restored  to  myself,  and  gain 
such  power  over  my  appetite  as  to  hold  it  forever  in 
check.  And  here  I  am,  with  new  hopes  and  new 
purposes,  and  a  trust  in  God  for  deliverance  and 
safety,  that  my  heart  and  my  reason  tell  me  shall 
not  be  in  vain." 

After  Mr.  Granger  had  related  Dr.  II—  — 's  story, 
he  said  :  "  If  that  man  can  be  saved,  and  if  I  can  be 
saved,  through  trust  in  God,  no  one  is  so  fallen  that 
he  may  not  be  lifted  up,  and  his  feet  set  in  a  secure 
way."  Then,  after  a  slight  pause,  he  added,  in  a 
subdued  and  humble  voice :  "  But  in  and  of  myself 
I  cannot  hope  to  stand.  When  I  for^ut  that,  my 
imminent  peril  is  nip-h." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  XEW  AND  BETTER  LIFE. 

A  FTEE,  two  or  three  weeks,  the  change  in  Mr. 
-f--*-  Granger's  appearance  was  so  great  that  I  found 
it  difficult  to  realize  the  fact  that  he  was  the  same 
man  whom  we  had,  a  little  while  before,  taken  from 
the  county  prison.  Nutritious  food  was  rapidly 
restoring  muscular  waste,  and  giving  tension  to 
shattered  nerves.  Sound  sleep  was  doing  its  good 
work  also.  While  above  all,  and  vital  to  all,  was  a 
new-born  trust  in  God,  and  a  submission  of  himself 
to  the  Divine  will  and  guidance. 

I  could  see  the  steady  growth  of  a  new  quality  in 
his  face;  the  expression  of  which  was  becoming 
softer,  yet  not  losing  the  strength  of  a  true  manli 
ness.  The  old,  confident  ring  did  not  come  back  to 
his  voice ;  though  it  gained  in  firmness,  and  you  felt 
in  its  tone  the  impulse  of  a  resolute  will. 

Up  to  this  time  I  had  said  nothing  to  Granger 
about  his  wife  and  children,  nor  had  he  referred  to 
them ;  but  I  knew,  from  signs  not  to  be  mistaken, 
that  they  were  hardly  for  a  moment  absent"  from  his 
thoughts ;  and  I  was  sure  that  his  heart  was  going 
out  to  them  with  irrepressible  yearnings.  It  could 
not  be  otherwise,  for  he  was  a  man  of  warm  affec 
tions. 

219 


220  SA  VED 

Nor  had  I  said  anything  of  this  new  effort  at 
reformation  to  Mrs.  Granger,  whom  I  had  seen  twice 
since  she  told  me  of  her  husband's  visit  to  the  photo 
graph  rooms.  I  had  been  trying  ever  since  to  find 
another  place  for  Amy,  but  so  far  was  not  successful. 
Why  should  I  keep  the  good  news  away  from  her 
any  longer?  I  had  withheld  it  so  far,  in  fear  lest 
the  hope  and  joy  it  must  occasion  might  too  quickly 
be  dashed  to  the  ground.  But  now  I  was  beginning 
to  have  a  more  abiding  faith  in  this  last  struggle 
upon  which  Granger  had  entered ;  because  of  the 
new  and  higher  elements  of  strength  it  was  calling 
into  exercise. 

For  several  days  I  debated  the  question,  and  then 
dropped  a  note  to  Mrs.  Granger,  asking  her  to  call 
at  my  office.  She  came  promptly,  hoping  that  I  had 
succeeded  in  finding  a  situation  for  her  daughter.  I 
had  not  noticed  before  how  much  her  beautiful  hair 
had  changed.  It  was  thickly  sprinkled  with  gray. 
A  shadow  lay  in  her  large  brown  eyes,  which  had 
lost  much  of  their  former  depth  and  brightness. 
There  was  an  earnest,  expectant  manner  about  her 
as  she  came  forward.  I  saw  that  she  was  troubled 
and  anxious,  and  half-regretted  having  sent  for 
her,  not  knowing,  of  course,  how  she  might  be 
affected  by  the  information  I  was  about  to  commu 
nicate. 

"Any  good  word  for  Amy  ?"  she  asked,  with  an 
effort  to  keep  her  voice  from  betraying  the  suspense 
from  which  she  was  suffering. 


AS  BY  FIRE.  2% ( 

"  Nothing  certain,  as  yet,"  I  replied.  "  But  there's 
something  else  that  I  wish  to  talk  with  you  about." 

Her  large  eyes  widened  a  little.  She  asked  no 
question,  but  kept  her  gaze  fixed  upon  me. 

"Have  you  heard  anything  from  Mr.  Granger 
since  Amy  was  at  the  photograph  rooms  ?" 

She  shook  her  head,  but  did  not  remove  her  eyes 
from  my  face. 

"You  did  not  know  that  he  was  arrested  and 
sent  down  to  prison  ?" 

A  slight  negative  movement  of  the  head,  and  a 
close,  hard  shutting  of  the  lips. 

"  I  heard  of  it,  and  went  with  a  friend  to  see 
him." 

A  start,  a  catching  of  the  breath,  and  a  receding 
color. 

"  I  think  he  must  have  died  within  twenty-four 
hours  if  we  had  not  taken  him  from  the  cell  in 
which  we  found  him.  Utterly  broken  down  in  body 
and  spirits,  he  had  given  up  in  despair." 

The  eyes  of  Mrs.  Granger  dropped  swiftly  from 
my  face.  I  saw  a  strong  shiver  run  through  her 
body.  Then  she  was  motionless  as  a  statue. 

"  Mr.  Stannard  and  I  went  to  see  him,"  I  resumed. 
"  We  had  an  order  for  his  release,  and  took  him  to 
the  new  Reformatory  Home  in  Locust  Street,  where 
he  has  been  ever  since." 

Mrs.  Granger  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  me 
again.  No  light  had  come  into  them.  If  anything, 
the  shadow  that  lay  over  them  was  deeper.  I  was 


222  SAVED 

disappointed  at  this  apparent  indifference,  and  at  her 
failure  to  ask  me  any  questions  in  regard  to  her 
husband. 

"  Mr.  Stannard  and  I  feel  very  hopeful  about 
him." 

She  shook  her  head  in  a  dreary  way.  "  There  is 
no  hope,"  she  murmured,  in  a  dead  level  voice.  "  It 
was  kind  of  you  and  Mr.  Stannard,  and  you  meant 
well.  But  it  will  be  of  no  use.  If  you  had  brought 
me  word  that  he  was  dead,  I  would  have  felt  thank 
ful  to  know  that  his  helpless,  hopeless,  wretched  life 
was  over.  It  is  hard  for  me  to  say  this,  Mr.  Lyon, 
but  I  can  say  nothing  less.  He  is  in  the  hands  of  a 
demon  whose  strength,  as  compared  with  his,  is  as 
that  of  a  giant  to  a  new-born  infant." 

"  Is  not  God  stronger  than  any  devil  ?"  I  asked, 
speaking  with  quiet  earnestness. 

There  was  another  quick,  half- wondering  dilation 
of  her  large  eyes,  and  a  swift  change  in  her  counte 
nance.  She  waited  for  me  to  go  on. 

"  There  is  no  sin  from  which  God  cannot  save  a 
man,"  said  I. 

"  Except,  I  have  sometimes  thought,  the  sin  of 
drunkenness;  it  so  utterly  degrades  and  destroys  the 
soul.  It  seems  to  leave  nothing  upon  which  men, 
or  angels,  or  even  God  Himself  can  take  hold." 

She  spoke  with  some  bitterness,  but  with  more  of 
doubt  and  sorrow  in  her  voice. 

"  Many  men,"  I  replied,  "who  had  fallen  quite  as 
low  as  Mr.  Granger,  have  been  saved  from  this 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  223 

dreadful  sin  and  curse  by  means  of  the  Institution 
where  we  have  placed  ycur  husband,  and  are  back 
in  their  old  social  places  again,  and  restored  to  their 
once  broken  and  deserted  families." 

A  death-like  paleness  swept  suddenly  into  her 
face.  She  reached  out  her  hands  and  caught  the 
table  by  which  she  was  sitting,  holding  on  to  it 
tightly,  and  trembling  violently. 

"  Have  you  not  heard  about  this  Franklin  Home?" 
I  asked. 

She  shook  her  head,  her  lips  moving  in  a  silent  No. 

"  It  is  a  Christian  home,"  I  said.  "  All  its  inmates 
are  brought  under  Christian  influences.  There  is 
daily  readings  of  the  Scripture,  and  also  family 
prayer  in  the  chapel  of  the  Institution.  Every  Sun 
day  evening  religious  worship  is  held  in  this  chapel, 
and  in  the  afternoon  of  Sunday  there  is  a  Bible 
class.  First  and  last  the  inmates  are  taught  that 
only  by  God's  grace  and  help  can  they  ever  hope  to 
overcome  completely  the  sin  of  drunkenness.  They 
must  fight  this,  as  well  as  all  other  evil  habits  and 
inclinations,  shunning  them  as  sins  against  God,  and 
looking  to  Him  for  the  strength  that  will  give  them 
the  victory ;  so  seeking  to  be  saved  from  all  sins, 
and  coming  thereby  completely  within  the  sphere  of 
His  Divine  protection." 

The  manner  of  Mrs.  Granger  was  that  of  one  who 
did  not  clearly  understand  what  was  being  said  to 
her.  There  were  rapid  changes  in  her  face,  lights 
and  shadows  passing  swiftly  across  it. 


224  SA  VED 

"  For  over  three  weeks  your  husband  has  been  in 
this  Home,  and  the  improvement  is  so  great  as  to  be 
almost  marvelous." 

She  laid  her  head  down  upon  my  office  table,  and 
I  saw  that  she  was  weeping. 

"  I  have  never  had  so  great  faith  in  your  hus 
band's  efforts  at  reform  as  I  feel  now.  He  has  passed 
below  the  limit  of  self-confidence ;  has  lost  all 
faith  in  himself;  knows  that  he  cannot  stand  in  his 
own  strength;  that  only  God  can  help  and  save 
him." 

I  heard  the  office  door  open,  and  turning,  saw  Mr. 
Granger.  As  I  uttered  his  name  in  a  tone  of  sur 
prise,  his  wife  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  turned  toward 
him  a  face  from  which  the  color  had  gone  out  sud 
denly.  The  two  gazed  at  each  other  for  some  mo 
ments,  standing  a  little  apart,  their  startled  faces  all 
convulsed. 

"  Helen !  Oh,  my  poor  Helen !"  came  trembling 
from  Granger's  lips,  as  he  saw  the  sad  changes  which 
a  few  sorrowful  years  had  wrought  upon  her.  There 
was  an  involuntary  reaching  out  of  his  hands ;  but 
he  held  himself  away.  His  voice  was  inexpressibly 
tender  and  pitiful.  Still,  very  still,  she  stood ;  then 
I  saw  a  slight  movement,  and  then,  with  a  low  cry, 
"  My  husband !  my  husband  !"  she  sprang  forward 
and  laid  her  head  on  his  bosom,  his  arms  at  the  same 
moment  gathering  tightly  around  her.  I  went  out 
and  left  them  alone.  When  I  came  back,  they  were 
gone. 


AS  BY  FIRE.  225 

I  was  concerned  about  this.  Granger  \  /d  been, 
I  felt,  too  short  a  time  at  the  Home  to  be  yafely  re 
moved  from  its  influence.  I  was  not  onu  of  those 
who  believed  that  in  an  instant  of  time  a  sinner  was 
washed  white  and  clean,  and  lifted  wholly  away 
from  temptation  and  danger.  To  be  born  again, 
converted,  renewed  by  the  Spirit,  had  for  me  a  dif 
ferent  meaning.  I  had  thought  much  about  these 
things  of  late,  and  held  many  conversations  with 
Mr.  Stannard,  whose  mind  to  me  seemed  peculiarly 
enlightened.  I  believe  that  man  must  be  a  co-worker 
with  God.  That  there  was  no  washing  until  after 
repentance  and  the  putting  away  of  evils  a  J  sins ;  and 
that  the  "  every  whit  clean,"  when  applied  to  young 
converts,  was  a  fallacy,  and  in  consequence  a  snare  ; 
that  "He  that  overcometh,  the  same  shall  be  clothed 
in  white  raiment,"  and  none  others.  I  believed  that 
a  change  of  heart  was  a  gradual  thing,  progressing 
with  the  new  life  of  obedience  to  Divine  laws,  and 
that  as  obedience  was  continued  and  perfected,  the 
new  spiritual  man  became  stronger  and  stronger, 
until  at  last  able  to  stand  firm,  though  all  hell  were 
in  battle  array  against  him. 

Only  a  few  weeks  since  we  had  lifted  this  man 
out  of  the  mire  and  clav ;  onlv  a  few  weeks  of  the 

»/     '  «/ 

new  and  better  life.  Was  he  strong  enough  to  leave 
the  safe  harbor  in  which  he  had  been  anchored  for 
so  short  a  time,  and  try  the  open  sea  again  ?  I  did 
not  believe  it.  My  fear  was,  that  he  had  gone 
home  with  Mrs.  Granger,  and  that  he  would  not  re- 


226  SAVED 

turn  again  to  the  Institution  in  which  we  had  placed 
him.  If  this  were  so,  I  should  iremble  for  his  safety. 

In  the  evening  I  went  to  the  Home,  and,  to  my 
great  relief,  found  Mr.  Granger  in  the  reading-room. 
The  whole  expression  of  his  countenance  had 
changed.  There  was  a  light  in  it  which  I  had  not 
seen  before.  He  grasped  my  hand  and  held  it  firmly 
for  a  few  moments  without  speaking. 

"  Coming  out  right  very  fast,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  faster  than  I  had  dared  to  hope,"  he  replied. 

"  Did  you  go  home  with  your  wife  ?" 

"  No.  We  walked  together  for  an  hour  after  leav 
ing  your  office,  and  then  I  came  back  here.  I  am 
too  weak  yet  for  any  great  trial  of  my  strength.  It 
is  easy  enough  to  stand  with  all  these  helps  around 
me;  but  I  must  grow  stronger  in  myself  before  I 
attempt  to  walk  alone.  And  then  I  cannot  be  a 
burden  to  my  poor  wife,  who  is  already  overtaxed  in 
her  efforts  to  keep  a  home  for  our  children.  As  soon 
as  possible  I  must  get  something  to  do  that  I  may 
come  to  her  relief." 

"  Will  you  open  a  law  office  again  ?" 

"  Law  is  my  profession.  I  have  no  skill  in  any- 
i  thing  else.  It  is  my  only  way  of  return  to  business 
and  profit.  Yes,  just  as  soon  as  I  feel  strong  enough 
tp  make  the  effort,  I  shall  endeavor  to  get  into  prac 
tice.  In  passing  along  Walnut  Street  to-day,  I  saw 
several  small  offices  to  let,  any  one  of  which  would 
suit  me.  My  great  drawback  will  be  the  want  of  a 
law  library." 


AS  BY  FIRE.  227 

"  Don't  let  that  trouble  you,"  I  replied.  "  There 
are  plenty  of  old  friends  in  the  profession  who  will 
gladly  let  you  have  the  use  of  books  until  you  are 
able  to  buy  for  yourself.  As  soon  as  it  is  seen  that 
you  are  in  real  earnest  about  getting  on  your  feet 
again,  you  will  receive  a  warm  welcome  and  the 
grasp  of  many  helping  hands." 

Within  six  weeks  from  the  time  Granger  came 
out  of  prison,  he  had  a  desk  in  the  office  of  a  promi 
nent  lawyer,  whose  large  practice  enabled  him  to 
throw  considerable  business  in  his  way  from  the  very 
start.  He  still  remained  at  the  Reformatory  Home, 
where,  for  a  moderate  price,  he  had  a  well-furnished 
room  and  excellent  board.  He  not  only  identified 
himself  with  the  Institution,  but  became  deeply  in 
terested  in  the  work  of  reform.  He  had,  himself, 
been  a  cast-away  on  the  desolate  shore  where  so 
many  thousands  are  wrecked  every  year ;  and  he 
knew  all  the  pains  and  horrors  of  such  disasters. 
His  pity  and  his  sympathy  drew  towards  him  every 
new  inmate  of  the  Home,  and  prompted  him  to  do 
all  that  lay  in  his  power  to  encourage,  comfort  and 
help  him  to  begin  that  new  and  higher  life,  in  which, 
as  he  never  failed  to  urge,  true  and  permanent  safety 
could  alone  be  found. 

"  Have  you  ever  attended  religious  services  at  the 
Home  on  Sunday  evening?"  Mr.  Stannard  asked, 
cne  day.  It  was  about  two  months  after  Mr.  Gran 
ger's  admission.  I  had  not. 

"  Come  round  to-morrow  night.     It  will  interest 


228  SA  VED 

you.     Rev.  Mr.  S is  going  to  preach  to  the 


men." 


I  went,  and,  to  my  surprise,  found  a  little  chapel, 
which  held  about  two  hundred,  so  well  filled  that 
only  a  few  seats  remained.  There  were  quite  as 
many  women  as  men ;  wives,  mothers,  sisters  or 
friends  of  the  inmates.  A  little  way  back  from  the 
reading-desk  I  noticed  Mr.  Granger,  and  it  almost 
took  my  breath  when  I  saw  his  wife  sitting  on  one 
side  of  him  and  his  daughter  on  the  other.  There 
was  reading  from  the  Bible,  and  one  or  two  hymns, 
in  which  the  whole  congregation  joined  heartily. 
Then  a  most  excellent  sermon  from  one  of  the  lead 
ing  clergymen  of  the  city. 

It  was  a  long  time  since  I  had  been  so  much  im 
pressed  as  by  the  services  of  this  evening.  I  sat 
where  I  could  look  into  the  faces  of  nearly  all  who 
were  present.  Just  in  front  of  me  was  Mr.  Gran 
ger,  and  beside  him  his  wife  and  daughter,  all  at 
tentive  listeners  to  the  discourse.  Not  far  from  them 
I  recognized  the  person  of  Dr.  R .  He  sat  be 
tween  two  women,  also,  and  I  had  no  doubt  from  the 
way  they  leaned  towards  him,  or  turned  now  and 
then  to  look  at  him,  that  one  was  his  wife  and  the 
other  the  daughter  whom  he  had  followed  for  so 

o 

many  blocks  in  the  street,  too  sorely  conscious  of  liis 
degradation  to  dare  even  to  speak  to  her.  And  Mr. 
Lawrence,  who  had  written  to  his  wife  and  received 
the  promise  of  her  speedy  return,  was  there  likewise; 
and  by  him  sat  a  woman  with  a  calm,  strong,  true 


AS  BY  FIRE.  229: 

face,  and  I  saw,  with  a  throb  of  feeling,  which  sent 
the  moisture  to  my  eyes,  that  she  was  holding  one  of 
his  hands  tightly  in  one  of  hers. 

There  were  nearly  a  hundred  men  present  who 
had  been,  or  were  now,  inmates  of  the  Institution ; 
and  wives,  sisters  and  mothers  almost  as  many  more. 
Sad,  indeed,  was  the  writing  on  nearly  all  of  the 
faces  into  which  I  gazed ;  but  light  mingled  with 
the  shadows.  There  were  men  before  me  who  had 
been  drunkards  for  over  ten  and  twenty  years — 
some  for  even  a  longer  time — and  women  who  had 
borne  the  awful  sorrow  of  the  drunkard's  wife  for 
periods  quite  as  long. 

What  followed  touched  me  most  of  all.  After  the 
benediction  was  said,  and  the  congregration  began 
slowly  to  retire,  I  saw  little  groups  of  twos  and  threes 
and  fours  gathering  here  and  there,  standing  or  sit 
ting,  and  soon  comprehended  what  it  meant.  Here 
you  saw  a  husband  and  wife,  who  had  lived  apart 
for  years,  sitting  close  together  in  earnest  conversa 
tion  ;  and  there  wile  and  children  gathered  about  a 
husband  and  father  who  had  long  been  lost  to  them, 
but  was  now  found  again.  What  light,  and  even 
joy,  were  to  be  seen  in  the  faces  of  many,  the  women's 
faces  especially.  And  it  was  affecting  to  notice  some 
of  the  children — little  girls  more  particularly — hold 
ing  tightly  to  their  father's  hands,  sitting  close  to 
and  leaning  against  them,  or  looking  up  lovingly 
into  their  faces.  There  were  many  tender  re-unions 
that  night  in  the  little  chapel,  above  whose  reading- 


230  SAVED 

desk  a  silken  banner  held  the  inscription,  "  BY  THE 
GRACE  OF  GOD,  I  AM  WHAT  I  AM." 

I  made  my  way,  as  soon  as  the  crowd  had  cleared 
a  little,  to  where  Mr.  Granger  and  his  wife  and 
daughter  were  standing  together.  They  looked  very 
happy — yes,  "  happy  "  is  the  word — and  greeted  me 
with  much  cordiality. 

"  Is  this  the  first  time  you  have  attended  worship 
in  our  chapel  ?"  Mr.  Granger  asked. 

"  The  first  time,"  I  replied.  "  But  I  feel  as  if  it 
was  not  going  to  be  the  last.  I  have  heard  people 
speak  of  the  'sphere  of  worship,'  but  never  knew 
what  it  meant  until  to-night." 

"  It  is  because,"  he  answered,  "  there  are  very  few 
in  the  congregations  that  assemble  here  on  Sunday 
evenings,  who  do  not  feel  that  their  only  hope  is  in 
God,  and  that  without  His  grace  they  cannot  stand 
for  a  moment." 

"  Who  are  all  the  people  I  see  around  me  ?"  I 
asked. 

"  About  thirty  of  the  men  are  present  inmates  of 
the  Home.  Nearly  all  the  rest  were  formerly  in 
mates,  and  are  standing  firm.  They  come  here  on 
Sunday  evenings ;  and  those  who  have  families  bring 
their  wives,  and  many  their  children.  If  one  absents 
himself  from  these  Sunday  evening  services,  there 
is  a  feeling  of  concern  in  regard  to  him ;  for  expe 
rience  has  shown,  that  the  first  sign  of  danger  is  a 
manifest  indifference  to  the  things  of  religion.  1 
never  look  at  that  banner  above  the  reading-desk, 


AS  BY  FIRE. 


231 


without  a  new  sense  of  my  entire  dependence  on  God 
for  strength  to  walk  safely  in  the  midst  of  tempta 
tion  ;  and  I  am  sure  that  its  silent  admonition  has 
wrought  a  like  influence  with  many  others.  It  is 
by  God's  grace  that  I  am  what  I  am." 

Mrs.  Granger's  large  eyes  were  fixed  on  Ii9r  hus 
band's  face  while  he  spoke ;  and  I  saw  something  of 
their  old  charm  coming  back  into  them.  A  soft 
smile  was  hovering  like  a  faint  gleam  of  sunshine  on 
her  lips.  We  moved  back  the  chairs  amid  which 
we  were  standing,  making  with  them  a  small  circle, 
and  sat  down  together. 

"  My  last  night  in  the  Home,"  said  Granger,  after 
a  brief  silence.  His  voice  had  lost  some  of  its 
steadiness. 

"  Indeed !"     I  betrayed  a  little  surprise. 

"  Yes."  He  turned  towards  his  wife,  looking  at 
her  tenderly.  We  are  going  to  set  up  our  household 
gods  again." 

The  smile  grew  warmer  on  her  lips. 

"  We  have  taken  a  little  home,  and  are  going  to 
make  a  new  start  in  life ;  and  there  is  going  to  be  in 
this  home  what  was  never  seen  in  the  old  home. 
Shall  I  tell  you  what  that  is,  my  good  friend  to 
whom  I  owe  so  much  ?" 

I  waited  for  him  to  go  on.  Hushing  his  voice, 
and  speaking  reverently,  he  said :  "A  family  altar." 

Before  the  silence  that  followed  was  broken,  we 
were  joined  by  the  president  and  two  or  three 
gentlemen  who  were  active  in  the  management  of 


232 


SAVED 


the  Home.  While  I  was  talking  with  them,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Granger,  with  their  daughter,  drew  away, 
and  a  little  while  afterwards  I  saw  them  separate  at 
the  door  of  the  chapel. 

On  the  next  day  Granger  left  the  Institution,  and 
went  back  into  the  old  common  life,  to  try,  amidst 
its  thousand  enticements  to  evil,  the  new  sources  of 
strength  in  which  he  was  now  trusting  for  safety. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

FIGHTING  THE  GOOD  FIGHT. 

STILL  in  the  very  prime  of  manhood,  the  springs 
of  action  were  yet  strong.  An  orderly  life 
soon  restored  Granger  to  a  measure  of  the  old  vigor, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  cases  of  importance  began 
to  come  into  his  hands.  And  now  my  concern  for 
him  began  to  grow  again.  If  the  engrossing  cares 
of  his  profession,  and  the  woiidliness  that  creeps  in 
so  easily  through  the  door  that  prosperity  opens, 
should  draw  him  into  religious  indifference,  and 
inspire  him  with  self-confidence,  would  not  the  old 
peril  return  ? 

One  thing  gave,  me  much  assurance.  Granger 
had  identified  himself  with  the  cause  of  temperance, 
and  made  frequent  public  addresses.  He  took  an 
active  part  in  all  the  movements  designed  to  effect 
restrictive  legislation,  and  was  the  author  of  several 
able  articles  in  which  the  magnitude  of  the  liquor 
traffic,  and  its  attendant  evils  were  set  forth  with 
startling  boldness. 

Had  the  family  altar  been  set  up  ?  Yes.  I  put 
the  question  direct  about  six  months  after  he  had 
left  the  Institution  in  Locust  Street.  He  laid  his 
hand  quietly  but  firmly  on  my  arm  as  he  replied  • 
"In  my  home  and  in  my  heart." 

15  233 


234 

His  countenance  softened,  and  his  eyes  grew 
tender.  I  learned  then  for  the  first  time  that  he  had 
become  much  interested  in  church  work,  and  had 
been  chiefly  instrumental  in  the  establishment  of  a 
mission  school  in  a  destitute  part  of  the  city ;  and 
that  he  did  not  confine  his  efforts  alone  to  the  poor 
children  who  were  gathered  into  this  school,  but 
endeavored  to  reach  with  good  influences  their 
parents,  many  of  whom  were  sadly  degraded,  and 
most  of  them  intemperate.  On  expressing  my 
gratification,  he  merely  said  :  "  I  would  make  a  poor 
return  for  all  the  good  I  have  received,  if  I  did  not 
try  to  do  something  for  others.  The  heart  that 
closes  itself  to  gratitude,  closes  itself  to  higher  and 
diviner  things.  If  the  love  of  God  be  in  a  man,  it 
must  prompt  him  to  help  and  save  others ;  and  his 
love  is  spurious — of  himself  and  selfish — call  it  by 
what  name  he  may,  if  it  does  not  do  this." 

"  What  about  that  old  appetite?"  I  asked  on  an 
other  occasion.  It  was  six  months  later.  "  Does  it 
trouble  you  ?" 

"No." 

"  Has  it  been  extirpated  ?" 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  few  moments,  a  serious 
expression  gathering  on  his  face,  and  then  replied : 
"  It  would  be  about  as  safe  for  me  to  put  a  pistol  to 
my  head  as  a  glass  to  my  lips.  Appetite  is  not 
dead ;  it  has  only  been  removed  from  the  seat  of 
power,  and  made  passive  and  subordinate.  I  give  it 
no  opportunity.  I  resist  its  slightest  effort  to  rise, 


AS  BY  FIRE.  235 

and  hold  its  indulgence  as  a  sin  which  I  dare  not 
commit." 

"  When  its  motions  arc  felt,  how  do  you  resist 
them  ?" 

"As  I  would  resist  a  temptation  to  steal  or  commit 
murder  or  any  other  sin  against  God.  I  turn  my 
thought  from  the  image  or  allurement,  and  hold 
myself  free  from  action.  If  temptation  presses,  I 
lift  my  heart  and  say,  '  Lord,  deliver  me  from  evil;' 
and  He  does  deliver  me." 

"  Do  you  often  have  these  temptations  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Their  assaults  are  growing  less  and  less  frequent, 
and  less  and  less  violent.  But  I  make  it  a  rule  to 
keep  away  as  far  from  the  enemy's  ground  as  possi 
ble.  Invitations  to  public  dinners,  where  liquor  is 
served,  I  rarely,  if  ever,  accept.  And  I  am  as  chary  of 
pri  fate  entertainments,  where  wine  is  too  often  more 
freely  dispensed  than  water.  Nothing  would  tempt 
me  to  go  inside  of  a  drinking  saloon,  unless  it  were 
in  order  to  save  some  fallen  brother,  and  then  my 
good  purpose  would  be  a  panoply  of  defence." 

"  Do  you  never  expect  to  have  this  appetite  wholly 
removed  ?" 

"  What  may  come  in  the  future  is  more  than  I 
can  say.  But  safe  abiding  to  the  end  is  what  I 
desire,  and  I  do  not  mean  to  fail  through  any  over 
weening  confidence  in  the  utter  extinction  of  this 
appetite." 

"  Do  you  not  believe  that  God  will  take  it  away 
in  answer  to  prayer — take  it  away  by  an  act  of 


236  SAVED 

grace,  and  without  any  resistance  to  the  demands  of 
appetite,  or  co-operation  of  any  kind  on  your  part?" 
"  No,  I  do  not  believe  anything  of  the  kind.  I 
have  met  with  some  who  held  such  a  view,  and  who 
spoke  confidently  as  to  themselves;  but  I  have 
always  regarded  them  as  being  in  more  danger  than 
others.  I  cannot  understand  how  it  is  possible  for 
God  to  save  a  man  who  makes  no  effort  to  save  him 
self.  I  have  seen  quite  a  number  of  cases  in  the  last 
year,  where  men  professed  to  be  cleansed  from  all 
sin,  drunkenness  included,  in  a  moment  of  time,  and 
simply  in  answer  to  prayer.  It  did  not  take  a  great 
while  to  make  it  manifest  that  the  old  Adam  was 
about  as  strong  in  them  as  before.  Some  of  them 
led  better  lives,  and  were  able  to  keep  free  from 
drunkenness ;  but  it  was  not  because  their  evil  in 
clinations  had  been  removed  in  answer  to  prayer  and 
faith,  but  because  they  began  fighting  them,  and 
looking  to  God  as  they  fought,  and  overcoming 
through  the  Divine  power  that  is  given  to  all  who 
will  take  it.  Regeneration  is  a  slow  and  gradual 
work;  not  the  sudden  creation  of  a  new  spiritual 
man  with  all  of  his  affection  in  Heaven.  This  highc  r 
life  is  not  attained  through  faith  and  prayer,  but 
through  combat  against  the  evils  that  are  in  the  hu 
man  heart.  The  Church  is  militant. 

"  '  Must  I  be  carried  to  the  skies 

On  flowery  beds  of  ease, 
"While  others  fought  to  win  the  prize, 
Or  sailed  through  bloody  seas  ? 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  237 

'  Sure  I  must  fight,  if  I  would  reign ; 

Increase  my  courage,  Lord. 
I'll  bear  the  cross,  endure  the  pain, 
Supported  by  Thy  Word.' 

" Fight  against  what?  The  world,  the  flesh  and 
the  devil.  Where?  In  our  hearts;  for  nowhere 
else  can  they  assail  or  do  us  harm ;  and  with  God 
on  one  side,  and  the  Divine  power  of  His  Word 
from  which  to  take  sword  and  shield,  we  may  be 
invincible  if  we  will — Christian  soldiers,  fighting 
our  way  to  Heaven ;  not  weak  spiritual  babes,  borne 
thither  in  supporting  arms,  and  of  little  use  when 
we  get  there." 

Granger  had  been  thinking,  living  and  growing 
more  than  I  had  thought.  I  saw  in  clearer  light  the 
ground  of  his  safety.  He  was  not  a  mere  professor, 
trusting  for  salvation  in  some  ideal  purification,  or 
resting  satisfied  in  simple  church-membership ;  but 
an  earnest  inner-living  and  outer-working  Christian 
man,  who  could  give  a  reason  which  other  men's 
reason  might  apprehend  for  the  hope  that  was  in 
him. 

From  this  time  my  concern  for  Granger  decreased  ; 
for  I  understood  better  wherein  his  strength  lay.  He 
was  living  a  new  life,  obedient  to  Divine  laws,  in  the 
higher  and  more  interior  regions  of  his  mind ;  and 
this  new  life,  or  new  spiritual  man,  born  from  above 
"  of  water  and  of  the  Spirit " — was  ruling  over  the 
old  natural  life  and  holding  it  in  orderly  subjection. 
With  him,  reason  and  faith  had  become  harmonized. 


238  SA  VED 

He  was  not  walking  blindly,  nor  in  any  false  secu 
rity,  trusting  in  some  dogma  he  could  not  under 
stand  ;  but  in  a  clear  spiritual  light — a  thinking  as 
well  as  a  believing  Christian.  With  him,  faith  was 
the  "  evidence  of  things  not  seen  ;"  and  this  faith,  or 
evidence,  had  two  foundations  to  rest  upon,  the 
Divine  Law,  and  the  reason  which  God  had  given 
him  for  the  apprehension  of  that  Law.  "  A  blind 
faith  is  worth  nothing — is  no  faith  at  all,"  he  would 
say.  "  Is,  in  fact,  spiritual  blindness.  But  Christ 
came  to  open  the  eyes  of  the  spiritually  blind  that 
they  might  see,  and  discern  the  weightier  things  of 
His  law — judgment,  mercy  and  faith — in  the  keep 
ing  of  which  salvation  is  alone  to  be  found." 

"  The  whole  theory  of  religion  is  embraced  in  this 
sir.iple  precept,"  he  once  said  to  me:  "Cease  to  do 
e\il  because  it  is  sin,  and  therefore  contrary  to  the 
Irvine  Law.  When  a  man  does  this,  he  makes  an 
effort  to  obey  God ;  and  obedience  is  higher  than 
fyith  and  more  effectual  than  sacrifice.  Just  as  soon 
as  a  man  begins  to  shun  the  evils  to  which  he  is  in 
clined,  because  to  do  them  would  be  sin,  God  begins 
in  him  the  work  of  purification,  and  gives  him 
strength  for  still  further  resistance.  This  is  true 
saving  faith ;  for  it  is  the  faith  of  obedience — the 
faith  that  looks  humbly  to  God,  trusts  in  Him  and 
seeks  to  do  His  will.  The  first  effort  may  be  very 
feeble,  but  if  it  be  a  true  effort,  Divine  strength  will 
flow  into  it;  and  then  he  will  have  an  almost  imme 
diate  sense  of  deliverance,  followed  by  a  season  of 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  239 

rest  and  peace.  The  dangers  of  this  first  state  are 
many.  In  the  parable  of  the  Sower,  our  Lord  has 
declared  them.  Only  they  'which,  in  an  honest  and 
good  heart,  having  heard  the  Word,  keep  it,  and 
bring  forth  fruit  with  patience' — the  fruit  of  right 
living — can  attain  to  the  kingdom.  Too  many  err 
in  mistaking  this  first  delight,  when  the  springing 
blade  feels  the  refreshing  airs  and  warm  sunshine  of 
heaven,  for  the  later  harvest  time.  With  them  the 
good  seed  has  fallen  in  stony  places  or  among  thorns. 
Alas !  that  we  have  so  many  of  these." 

Mr.  Granger's  interest  in  the  cause  of  temperance 
grew  as  he  continued  to  devote  all  the  time  he  could 
spare  from  his  profession  to  the  work  of  its  exten 
sion.  When,  two  years  after  his  reformation,  that 
remarkable  movement  known  as  the  "  Woman's 
Crusade,"  began  in  Ohio,  and  spread  with  the 
rapidity  of  a  prairie  fire  from  town  to  town  and  State 
to  State,  until  it  reached  almost  every  city  and  ham 
let  in  the  land,  he  gave  it  such  aid  and  approval  as 
lay  in  his  power.  I  was  surprised  at  this,  and  said 
so  frankly. 

"  It  is  a  mere  outbreak  of  wild  enthusiasm,"  I  re 
marked,  "  and  will  die  as  suddenly  as  it  has  flamed 
up.  And,  moreover,  those  who  are  engaged  in  it 
are  acting  in  violation  of  law,  and  order,  and  the 
sacredness  of  individual  rights." 

He  waited  for  a  little  while  before  answering  me, 
and  then  said:  "I  have  watched  this  movement, 
and  thought  about  it  a  great  deal,  and  I  must  own 


240  SA  VED 

that  it  has  stirred  my  heart  profoundly.  There  it 
something  deeper  in  it  than  I  am  yet  able  clearly  to 
comprehend.  That  its  effects  are  marvelous  no  one 
can  deny — and  good  as  well  as  marvelous.  If  pray 
ing  with  and  for  saloon-keepers,  in  or  out  of  their 
bar-rooms,  will  induce  them  to  abandon  their  deadly 
traffic,  then  I  say  '  God-speed !'  to  those  who  see  in 
this  way  of  fighting  the  common  enemy  their  line 
of  duty.  If  praying  will  shut  the  doors  of  all  the 
saloons  in  a  town,  by  all  means  let  prayer  be 
tried." 

"  But  is  it  really  prayer  that  does  the  work?" 

"  Prayer  is  certainly  the  chief  agency.  No  one 
can  question  that." 

"  You  believe,  then,  that  because  a  praying  band 
of  women  kneel  down  in  a  saloon  and  pray  to  God 
to  turn  the  heart  of  the  keeper  away  from  his  evil 
work  and  lead  him  to  abandon  it,  that  God  answers 
their  prayers  and  converts  the  saloon-keeper?" 

"  You  have  the  facts  of  such  conversions  before 
you ;  and  they  are  not  a  few.  How  will  you  explain 
them?" 

"  I  confess  myself  at  fault.  But  I  do  not  believe 
that  God  was  any  the  less  inclined  to  convert  the 
saloon-keeper,  and  lead  him  to  abandon  his  work  of 
destroying  men,  soul  and  body,  before  the  women 
prayed,  than  He  was  afterwards." 

"  Perhaps  not.  Indeed,  I  am  sure  He  was  not 
God's  love  for  the  human  race  is  infinite,  and  cannot 
therefore  gain  any  increase  through  man's  interces- 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  241 

si  on.  If  He  waits  to  be  entreated,  it  is  for  the 
entreaty  that  shall  change  man's  attitude  towards 
Him,  not  His  attitude  to  man.  And  herein  I  take 
it  lies  the  value  and  the  power  of  prayer." 

"  But  how  can  the  prayers  of  a  band  of  women 
change  a  saloon-keeper's  attitude  towards  God  ?"  I 
asked.  "  He  doesn't  pray,  but  actually  sets  himself 
against  prayer.  Instead  of  looking  to  God,  he  re 
jects  Him." 

"  All  that  is  effected  by  prayer  we  cannot  know," 
Granger  replied  ;  "  for  its  influence  is  in  the  region 
of  things  invisible  to  mortal  eyes.  We  understand 
but  little  of  the  laws  that  govern  spiritual  forces; 
but  that  they  are  as  unerring  in  their  operations  as 
any  law  of  nature,  we  may  safely  conclude." 

Mr.  Stannard  joined  us  here,  and,  learning  the 
subject  of  our  conversation,  said :  "  If  you  will  re 
flect  a  little,  I  think  you  will  see  that  there  must  bo 
a  kind  of  spiritual  medium  or  atmosphere  on  which 
our  thoughts  and  feelings  pass  in  some  mysterious 
way  from  one  to  another,  as  light  and  sound  are 
transmitted  by  our  common  atmosphere.  Let  us 
suppose,  by  way  of  illustration,  that  a  mother  is 
thinking  intently  of  her  absent  son,  and  her  heart 
at  the  same  time  going  out  lovingly  towards  him.  Or, 
let  us  suppose  that  she  feels  deep  concern  for  his 
spiritual  state,  and  is  praying  earnestly  that  he  may 
turn  from  the  evil  of  his  ways  and  give  his  heart  to 
God.  Now,  will  not  her  thought  of  her  son  reach 
him  on  some  medium  cf  transmission  too  subtle  tr» 


242  SA  VED 

be  perceived  by  our  grosser  senses,  and  so  make  her 
present  to  his  thoughts  ?  And  will  not  the  loving 
concern  which  is  affecting  her  so  deeply  reach  him 
at  the  same  time,  and  open  his  heart  to  the  heavenly 
influences  which  have  been  waiting,  it  may  be  for 
years,  at  the  shut  door,  for  an  opportunity  to  come 
in  ?  God  has  not  changed,  lie  has  not  waited  for 
the  mother's  prayers  to  reach  Him  before  He  will 
save  her  son  ;  but  the  mother's  prayers  have  affected 
the  son,  and  revived,  it  may  be,  old  states  of  inno 
cence,  or  reverence  for  God,  or  thoughts  of  love  and 
duty  into  which  angelic  impulses  might  flow,  and 
the  Spirit  of  God  take  hold,  and  through  them 
quicken  the  sleeping  conscience. 

"  There  is  a  doctrine,  which,  if  true — and  I  think 
it  must  be  true — throws  a  strong  light  on  this  sub 
ject,  and  explains  the  phenomena  of  what  are  re 
garded  as  answers  to  prayer.  It  is  this :  From 
infancy  up  to  mature  years,  the  Lord  continually 
provides  for  the  storing  up  in  the  memory  of  pure, 
and  true,  and  innocent  things — such  as  various  states 
of  innocence  arid  charity  ;  of  love  towards  relatives, 
brothers  and  sisters,  teachers  and  friends ;  of  mercy 
toward  the  poor  and  needy,  and  kindness  towards  all. 
When  infancy  is  passed,  and  the  mind  begins  to 
open,  then,  as  far  as  it  is  possible  to  be  done,  the 
Lord  provides  that  some  precepts  of  life  be  stored 
up,  as  duty  to  the  Lord  and  the  neighbor,  and  also 
knowelge  of  faith.  These  remain  protected  in  the 
inner  memory,  as  the  things  by  which  the  Lord  can 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  243 

operate  with  man  after  he  arrives  at  the  age  of  free 
dom  and  rationality ;  and  it  is  by  means  of  these 
that  He  lifts  him  out  of  his  inherited  evil  affections, 
and  leads  him  heavenward." 

"A  most  important  doctrine,  if  true,"  I  said.  uBut 
I  am  not  able  to  see  how  it  explains  the  phenomena 
of  answers  to  prayer." 

"  Suppose,"  replied  Mr.  Stannard,  "  we  take  the 
case  of  a  saloon-keeper  in  whose  memory,  hidden 
away  and  covered  up  for  years,  have  lain  some  of 
these  innocent,  and  tender,  and  merciful  states, 
stored  there  in  childhood  through  the  loving  care  of 
a  mother.  The  Lord  has  been  very  watchful  over 
them ;  and  has  kept  them  hidden  and  safe  in  some 
closely-sealed  chamber,  lest  the  evil  things  of  his 
evil  life  should  destroy  them.  Not  one  of  these 
states  has  been  lost ;  not  a  good  or  true  precept  erased 
from  the  book  of  his  memory — they  have  only  been 
kept  away  from  his  consciousness  while  he  immersed 
himself  in  evil,  so  that  they  might  not  be  rejected 
and  lost.  This  man  is  in  his  bar-room.  The  door 
opens,  and  half  a  dozen  women  enter.  The  moment 
he  sees  them,  his  anger  flames  out,  and  he  launches 
frightful  oaths  and  vile  imprecations  against  them. 
But  the  women  are  in  earnest.  They  believe  in  the 
power  of  prayer,  and  are  going  to  try  its  influence 
here.  As  they  pass  into  the  saloon,  the  clear,  sweet 
voice  of  the  leader  swells  out,  and  for  the  first  time 
in  a  dozen  years,  it  may  be,  there  breaks  on  the 
man's  ears  the  words,  'All  hail  the  power  of  Jesus' 


244  SA  VED 

name !'  It  does  not  need  the  chorus  of  voices  that 
take  up  the  words  and  music  to  drown  his  impreca 
tions.  They  have  already  died  on  his  lips.  What 
a  strange  feeling  has  come  over  him!  Where  is  he? 
In  the  old  village  church,  listening  to  his  mother's 
or  sister's  voice  in  the  choir  ?  The  Lord  has  ever 
been  very  near  to  him,  though  unseen  and  unknown, 
waiting  for  an  opportunity  like  this.  How  still  he 
stands,  listening  and  bending  a  little  forward  towards 
the  singers!  And  now,  in  the  strange  hush  that 
follows,  the  women  kneel,  and  one  of  them  lifts  her 
voice,  speaking  to  God  reverently,  and  asking  Him 
to  touch  and  sol  ten  the  heart  of  this  man,  who  has 
forgotten  the  loving  precepts  of  his  mother  and  the 
God  whom  she  served,  and  who  has  given  himself 
to  the  work  of  destroying  his  fellow-men.  '  Have 
pity  on  him,  Lord !'  she  says,  in  pleading  tones ; 
*  for  the  hurt  to  himself  will  be  deeper  than  the  hurt 
to  his  neighbor.  By  the  memory  of  his  mother's 
love,  of  his  pure  and  innocent  childhood,  of  the 
prayers  that  came  once  from  his  sweet,  baby  lips, 
touch  and  soften  his  heart,  and  turn  it  to  higher  and 
better  and  holier  things.'  Do  you  wonder,  as  the 
women  rise,  and  commence  singing  'Nearer  my  God 
to  Thee,'  that  the  bowed  head  of  the  saloon-keeper 
is  not  raised;  that  his  eyes  are  dim,  if  not  blinded 
by  tears  ?  Do  you  wonder  that  conviction  of  sin 
strikes  him  to  the  heart ;  or  that,  under  these  influ 
ences,  quickened  and  strengthened  by  the  Spirit 
of  God,  which  has  found  an  opportunity  in  this 


AS  BY  FIRE.  245 

stirring  of  old  memories  and  revival  of  old  states, 
he  is  filled  with  such  a  horror  of  his  old  life,  and 
such  sorrow  for  the  evil  he  has  done,  that  he  re 
solves,  through  God's  help,  to  be  a  new  and  a  better 
man  ? 

"  Now,  what  did  prayer  effect  in  this  case  ?  Did 
God  soften  and  change  the  heart  of  this  man  in 
answer  to  the  prayers  that  were  offered  in  his  saloon ; 
or,  were  these  prayers  the  agency  by  which  God's 
Spirit  was  able  to  reach  his  heart  and  vivify  the 
remains  of  innocent,  and  good,  and  holy  things 
which,  through  the  Divine  mercy,  had  been  stored 
up  in  childhood  and  youth,  and  kept  hidden  away 
and  safe  from  destruction?  I  cannot  comprehend  how 
the  first  could  be.  The  last  is  clear  to  my  appre 
hension.  The  first  makes  God  seem  worse  than 
indifferent.  Souls  may  perish  by  myriads  if  no  one 
will  make  intercession  for  them.  He  will  not  stoop 
to  save  unless  supplication  be  offered.  But  in  the 
latter  view,  He  is  forever  bending  down,  merciful 
and  compassionate ;  forever  reaching  out  His  hands ; 
forever  providing  the  means  of  salvation ;  forever 
seeking  to  save  that  which  is  lost.  Prayer  becomes 
a  more  powerful  agent,  in  so  far  as  its  rationale  is 
seen.  Faith  is  not  diminished,  but  made  stronger. 
We  need  not  ask  God  to  be  gracious ;  to  turn  away 
His  anger ;  to  be  pitiful  and  compassionate — for  He 
is  as  much  more  loving,  and  pitiful,  and  compas 
sionate,  than  any  man  or  angel,  as  the  infinite  is 
greater  than  the  finite.  But  we  may  feel  sure,  if  we 


246  SA  VEty 

pray  from  the  heart  for  submission  to  the  Divine 
will ;  for  patience,  and  humility,  arid  strength  for 
duty  and  self-denial,  that  our  prayers  will  be  an 
swered,  in  the  degree  that  they  are  offered  in  spirit 
and  in  truth." 

"  But  our  prayers  for  others,"  said  Mr.  Granger ; 
"  what  form  of  intercession  shall  we  use  for  them  ? 
How  shall  we  make  them  avail  for  good  ?  This  is 
now  the  important  question." 

"  Let  each  pray  out  of  the  fullness  of  his  heart," 
Mr.  Stannard  replied.  "  If  it  be  with  those  whom 
we  seek  to  influence  and  turn  from  evil  to  God,  the 
effect  will  be  more  marked,  and  often  attended  with 
more  favorable  results  than  when  we  pray  for  the 
absent  and  the  unseen.  Our  voices  and  tones,  and 
the  words  we  speak,  are  heard  by  those  for  whom  we 
thus  pray,  and  more  quickly  penetrate  the  locked 
chambers  of  the  soul,  where  the  Lord  has  been 
keeping  the  remnant  of  precious  things  which  has 
been  left  from  infancy  and  childhood,  and  by  the 
quickening  and  life  of  which,  He  can  save  their  souls 
from  sin.  And  let  us  not  fail  to  pray  for  the  absent 
in  whom  our  interest  has  been  awakened ;  for  our 
beloved  ones;  for  any  and  all  towards  whom  our 
hearts  are  yearning.  And,  as  we  pray,  let  us  think 
of  them  intently,  so  that  we  may  come  nearer  to 
them  in  spirit,  and  our  thought  of  God  bring  the 
thought  of  Him  into  their  minds,  so  that  He  may 
be  able  to  stir  in  their  hearts  the  motions  of  a  better 
life.  The  Lord  is  not  waiting  for  our  prayers  to 


AS  B  Y  FIRE. 


247 


avail  with  Him  that  He  may  do  this ;  but  for  our 
prayers,  it  may  be,  as  the  only  means  by  which 
the  doors  of  their  hearts  can  be  opened  to  let  Him 


come  m. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HELP  IX   PRAYER. 

THE  "  Crusade,"  as  it  was  called,  went  on ;  and 
for  awhile  the  whole  country  was  in  a  state  of 
wondering  excitement.  Thousands  of  saloons  were 
closed,  and  in  many  towns  the  traffic  in  intoxicating 
liquor  ceased  altogether.  Brewers,  especially  in  some 
of  the  larger  western  cities,  took  the  alarm,  as  well 
they  might,  for  the  sale  of  beer  had  diminished  so 
rapidly  that  the  fear  of  ruin  began  to  stare  them  in 
the  face.  At  Cincinnati,  Chicago  and  St.  Louis,  so 
heavy  a  loss  was  suffered  in  the  internal  revenue 
from  malt  liquors  that  Government  officials  became 
much  disturbed  in  consequence. 

And  still  the  Crusade  went  on.  But  now  the 
surprised  and  discomfited  enemy  began  to  rally  his 
scattered  forces.  In  some  of  the  smaller  towns  he 
had  fought  desperately ;  but  only  with  partial  suc 
cess  in  a  few  cases.  Except  in  the  larger  cities,  ho 
had  been  sorely  hurt,  or  vanquished  altogether. 
But  here,  he  was  able  to  make  his  first  sure  stand,' 
and  to  begin  striking  back  with  an  effective  force 
that  restored  his  confidence.  The  aid  of  the  press 
was  invoked ;  appeals  made  to  the  law ;  fines  im 
posed,  and  the  interference  and  protection  of  local 
governments  demanded.  Praying  in  saloons  was 

248 


AS  BY  FIRE.  249 

declared  to  be  a  nuisance,  if  not  a  crime  against 
social  order ;  and  the  assembling  of  women  in  the 
streets  for  singing  and  prayer  was  fordidden  because 
it  led  to  riot.  In  Cincinnati,  Cleveland  and  other 
cities,  disgraceful  attacks  were  made  by  brutal  men 
on  some  of  the  praying  bands ;  and  in  a  few  cases 
Christian  women  were  arrested  and  sent  to  prison. 

Almost  as  suddenly  as  this  strange,  intense  and 
irresistible  impulse  had  risen,  gained  strength  and 
swept  over  the  land,  did  it  seem  to  die  away ;  and 
the  enemy  said  it  was  dead,  and  made  rejoicings 
over  its  obsequies.  The  wise  ones  who  knew  from 
the  beginning  that  it  would  speedily  come  to  nought, 
were  happy  in  their  fancied  prescience.  As  for 
myself,  the  result  was  scarcely  different  from  what  I 
had  anticipated.  The  thing  was  abnormal,  in  my 
view,  and  could  not  last.  Merely  an  impulse — wild 
and  strong — which  must  die  from  exhaustion.  But 
my  sympathies  had  been  all  on  the  side  of  the 
movement ;  and  there  were  times  when  the  irresist 
ible  strength  of  its  onward  rush  had  led  me  to 
question  whether  some  new  spiritual  force  had  not 
been  evolved,  through  the  agency  of  these  praying 
women,  which  was  destined  to  sweep  this  fearful 
curse  of  intemperance  from  our  land. 

But  the  seeming  collapse  of  the  movement  left 
my  mind  free  to  drift  back  among  former  ideas  and 
impressions,  and  even  to  take  up  the  belief  that  as  a 
result  of  this  wild  impulse,  there  would  follow  a 
corresponding  indifference  and  supineness. 
16 


250  SAVED 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  woman's  movement 
now  ?"  I  asked  of  Mr.  Granger,  who  had  made  seve 
ral  public  addresses  while  the  excitement  was  at  its 
height  in  our  city,  and  in  act,  as  well  as  speech,  given 
it  both  aid  and  sympathy.  "  I  was  afraid  of  this," 
I  added,  before  he  had  time  to  answer  my  question. 

"  Afraid  of  what  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  Of  its  utter  collapse.  A  little  while  ago,  and  it 
was  the  great  sensation  of  the  day.  The  columns 
of  our  most  influential  and  most  widely-circulating 
newspapers  were  teeming  with  its  marvels  and  its 
achievements.  To-day,  there  is  scarcely  to  be  found 
in  any  of  them  so  much  as  a  paragraph  an  inch 
long  to  tell  of  its  dying  throes." 

"  And  yet,"  he  answered,  speaking  with  an  earn 
estness  that  surprised  me,  "  this  woman's  movement 
was  never  so  strong,  and  deep,  and  effective  as  it  is 
to-day." 

"  I  do  not  see  the  evidence,"  I  replied. 

"There  is  more  real  strength  in  unobtrusive, 
thoughtful,  well-organized  effort,  than  in  the  impetu 
ous  sweep  of  high-wrought  impulse,"  said  Granger. 
"  In  this  great  pioneer  movement,  this  wild  rush  of 
wronged,  and  in  many  cases,  heart-broken  and  des 
perate  women,  as,  losing  faith  and  hope  in  man,  they 
sprang  upon  their  deadly  foe  with  a  bitter  cry  to 
God  for  help,  there  came  to  them  a  revelation  of  the 
true  sources  of  their  power.  The  Lord  answered 
them  in  the  still,  small  voice,  that  grew  clear,  and 
Bweet,  and  full  of  comfort  and  assurance  as  the  noise 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  251 

of  the  whirlwind  which  had  rent  the  mountain  grew 
silent  on  the  expectant  air.  In  prayer  they  had 
found  a  weapon  which,  if  rightly  used,  would  make 
them  invincible.  Should  they  throw  it  away  in 
despair,  because  in  the  very  first  great  trial  their 
hands  had  struck  a  little  wildly,  and  the  maddened 
foe  seemed  pushing  them  in  consequence  to  a  small 
disadvantage  ?  Not  so.  They  had  heard  the  still, 
small  voice,  and  knew  it-  to  be  the  voice  of  their 
Lord.  If  the  prayers  of  a  few  hundreds,  or  a  few 
thousands  of  Christian  women  could  effect  so  much, 
what  might  not  be  done  through  the  united  prayers 
of  tens  and  hundreds  of  thousands  of  such  women, 
going  up  in  concert  from  every  city,  town,  village 
and  neighborhood  in  the  land  ?  Here  was  a  ques 
tion  full  of  significance  and  large  with  promise;  and 
this  is  the  question  to  which  some  of  the  best  and 
most  thoughtful  women  of  our  country  are  giving  an 
earnest  consideration  to-day.  But  their  hands  are 
not  resting  while  they  consider  it ;  nor  is  the  sword 
by  which  they  mean  to  have  the  victory  lying  idle 
in  its  scabbard.  Neither  prayer  nor  work  among 
saloon-keepers  and  their  families,  and  among  their 
wretched  victims,  has  ceased  because  the  press  no 
longer  makes  record  of  the  fact ;  nor  are  the  results 
less  wide  and  cheering  because  the  general  public 
remains  unadvised." 

"  Have  you  evidence  of  all  this  ?"  I  asked,  not 
concealing  my  astonishment. 

"  Abundant." 


252 

"  And  the  work  of  praying  in  saloons  still 
on?" 

"  No.  That  has  ceased  almost  entirely.  It  was 
only  a  pioneer  movement — a  first  wild  rush  upon 
the  enemy  and  trial  of  his  strength  and  resources. 
He  is  not  only  ahle  to  guard  himself  in  this  direc 
tion,  hut  to  weaken  and  divide  the  forces  of  his  as 
sailants  if  the  advance  is  made  upon  him  here.  Or 
ganization,  drill,  discipline,  wise  generalship,  a 
knowledge  of  the  laws  that  govern  in  attack  and 
defence ;  all  these  are  in  progress  and  heing  gained 
now." 

"  While  the  enemy>  warned  by  his  brief  dis 
comfiture,  will  entrench  himself  more  securely," 
said  I. 

Granger  smiled.  "In  war  the  resources  of  attack 
gain  perpetually  on  defense.  To  be  invincible  is  to 
be  exceptional.  Our  women  are  already  getting  their 
siege  guns  in  position,  and  organizing  their  sappers 
and  miners.  Their  spies  and  scouts  are  busy  ;  weak 
places  are  being  discovered,  and  new  modes  of  as 
sault  adopted.  Let  me  give  you  a  single  instance 
connected  with  the  present  state  of  the  war  in  our 
own  city,  which  has  never  been  intermitted.  There 
was  a  certain  saloon-keeper  who  had  repulsed  a 
praying  band  with  considerable  rudeness.  He  had 
a  wife  and  two  young  daughters,  and  a  son  in  his 
twelfth  year ;  his  family  living  a  short  distance  from 
his  bar-room.  A  committee  of  twelve  women  were 
selected  to  visit  in  the  neighborhood,  and  do  what 


AS  BY  FIRE.  253 

lay  in  their  power  as  well  to  repress  the  evil  of  in 
temperance  as  to  guard  the  young  from  its  fatal 
allurements.  To  visit  and  pray  in  saloons  was  no 
longer  in  their  programme  ;  but  to  reach  the  saloon 
keepers  and  get  them  to  abandon  their  traffic  was ; 
and  to  the  work  of  doing  this  with  the  one  I  have 
mentioned  they  set  themselves  in  sober  earnest 
Their  first  business  was  to  learn  all  about  him ;  the 
character  of  his  family,  and  the  nature  of  his  home 
relations.  He  was  not  a  bad  man,  the  neighbors  said, 
and,  when  he  did  not  drink  too  freely,  was  kind  and 
indulgent.  A  visit  by  a  single  one  of  the  ladies  was 
now  made.  At  first,  the  wife  was  cold  and  distant ; 
but  the  visitor  was  a  woman  with  so  much  of  the  mag 
netism  of  Christian  charity  in  her  soul,  and  withal, 
so  wise  and  prudent  of  speech,  that  it  was  not  long 
before  the  heart  of  the  saloon-keeper's  wife  opened 
to  her,  and  the  mother's  hidden  concern  for  her  boy 
and  two  young  daughters  became  manifest.  After 
a  brief,  carefully-worded  prayer,  the  visitor  went 
away,  but  not  without  asking  if  sho  might  not  call 
again,  and  receiving  an  invitation  to  do  so. 

"  At  her  next  visit,  she  got  farther  down  into  the 
woman's  heart  and  confidence,  and  was  able  to  speak 
to  her  with  some  freedom  about  the  danger  that  was 
in  the  path  of  her  son — a  danger  it  was  scarcely  pos 
sible  for  him  to  escape  if  his  feet  continued  therein. 
The  mother  wept  at  the  picture  of  peril  the  lady 
drew,  and  said :  '  Oh,  if  my  husband  were  in  some 
other  business.'  The  boy,  a  fine-looking  lad,  came 


254 

in  while  they  were  talking  about  him.  The  lady 
took  his  hand  and  spoke  to  him  kindly,  then  drew 
her  arm  about  him  and  asked  if  he  went  to  Sunday- 
school.  On  his  saying  No,  she  told  him  that  she 
had  a  class  of  nice  little  boys,  and  would  be  glad  to 
have  him  among  them.  He  was  pleased  with  her 
notice,  and  touched  by  her  gentle  kindness.  On  the 
next  Sunday  the  lad  presented  himself  at  school, 
and  was  taken  into  the  lady's  class.  He  was  very 
attentive  and  orderly,  and  promised  to  come  again 
on  the  following  Sunday.  True  to  his  promise,  he 
was  there,  conducting  himself  with  as  much  decorum 
and  attention  to  his  lessons  as  at  first.  A  juvenile 
temperance  meeting  was  held  at  the  close  of  the 
school,  and  all  who  were  not  already  members  in 
vited  to  join.  A  little  to  the  surprise,  and  greatly 
to  the  lady's  delight,  the  boy  came  forward  and  en 
rolled  his  name,  receiving  a  card  on  which  a  pledge 
not  to  drink  intoxicating  liquors,  or  to  give  them 
away  or  traffic  in  them,  was  printed.  At  the  bottom 
he  wrote  his  signature. 

"  Naturally  a  little  anxious  to  know  what  effect 
had  been  produced  at  home  by  this,  and  what  the 
prospect  of  the  boy's  being  able  to  keep  his  pledge, 
the  lady  called  to  see  the  saloon-keeper's  wife  near 
the  close  of  the  week,  when  she  heard  the  following 
story : 

" '  When  John  told  me  what  he'd  done,  and  showed 
me  his  pledge,  I  was  so  glad !  And  I  kissed  him, 
and  I  said :  "  You  must  keep  it  forever  and  forever, 


AS  BY  FIRE.  255 

John."  And  lie  said  that  that  was  just  what  ha 
meant  to  do.  I  kept  it  from  his  father ;  for  I  didn't 
know  just  how  he'd  take  it.  It  seemed  like  a  reflec 
tion  on  him.  "  John,"  says  his  father,  on  Monday 
morning,  as  he  was  leaving,  "  come  along.  I  want 
you  in  the  bar  to-day.  Peter's  going  on  an  excur 
sion,  and  I  can't  be  left  all  alone."  John's  face 
became  right  pale.  He  hadn't  moved  when  his 
father  got  to  the  door ;  on  seeing  which,  he  called 
out  sharply  :  "  Did  you  hear  me  ?"  "  You'll  have 
to  go,  John,"  said  I,  in  a  whisper ;  for,  you  see,  my 
husband's  quick,  and  I  was  afraid  for  the  boy.  So 
they  went  out,  and  I  was  dreadfully  troubled  about 
him.  It  was,  maybe,  an  hour  afterwards  that  John 
returned.  He  had  a  scared  kind  of  look  about  him, 
as  he  came  in.  "What's  happened?  Why  have 
you  come  home  ?"  I  asked.  "  Father  sent  me  home." 
"  What  for  ?"  "  Well,  you  see,  mother,  when  Peter 
went,  father  told  me  that  I  must  tend  bar  in  his 
place;  and  then  I  said  :  'I'm  sorry,  father,  but  I've 
taken  the  pledge  and  can't  drink,  nor  give  liquors 
away,  nor  sell  it  to  anybody.'  'How  dare  you  !  you 
young  villain !'  he  cried  out ;  and  I  was  afraid  he'd 
knock  me  down,  he  looked  so  strange  and  wild  like. 
Then  he  got  red,  and  pale,  and  I  thought  once  he 
was  going  to  strangle,  he  breathed  so  hard,  and  then, 
as  a  customer  came  in,  he  said:  'Off  home  with 
you!'" 

"  '  I  didn't  see  anything  of  my  husband  until  late 
that  night,'  continued  the  saloon-keeper's  wife.  *  He 


256 


SAVED 


was  alone  in  the  bar  and  had  to  stay  till  business 
was  over.  I  was  sitting  up  for  him,  but  John  was 
in  bed.  He  didn't  say  a  word ;  but  I  noticed  that 
he  hadn't  been  drinking,  and  that  gave  me  a  little 
heart.  In  the  morning  he  met  John  at  the  break 
fast-table.  I  had  been  dreading  this  meeting.  He 
didn't  speak  to  him,  but  two  or  three  times,  as  he  sat 
eating  in  a  silent,  moody  sort  of  way,  I  saw  him 
steal  a  curious  look  at  the  boy's  face.  He  hadn't 
half-finished  his  breakfast,  it  seemed  to  me,  when  he 
pushed  his  chair  away,  and  says  he :  "  John,  I  want 
you !"  and  went  out  of  the  dining-room  into  the 
passage.  John  got  almost  white,  but  went  out  and 
shut  the  door  after  him.  I  felt  dreadfully,  for  I 
didn't  know  what  was  going  to  happen.  In  about  a 
minute  John  came  back  alone.  The  color  was  all 
over  his  face  now,  and  there  was  a  great  light  in  his 
eyes.  "  Father  says  it's  best  now  that  it's  done,  and 
that  he'll  expect  me  to  keep  it."  I  was  such  a 
happy  woman,  and  cried  for  joy. 

"  'And  that  isn't  all,  ma'am,'  she  went  on.  '  Some 
how  my  husband  can't  get  over  it ;  and  he's  spoken 
so  kind  to  John  ever  since,  and  only  last  night  lie 
said :  "  Jane,  I  wish  I  could  see  my  way  clear  out  of 
this  business.  I  don't  like  it  at  all."  Oh,  if  he 
only  could  get  out  of  it !' 

" '  Let  us  pray  that  the  Lord  will  make  all  plain 
before  him,'  said  the  lady  visitor.  And  then  she 
knelt  down  with  the  woman  and  her  two  young 
daughters,  and  prayed  for  the  husband  and  father 


AS  B  Y  FIRE. 


257 


with  such  earnestness  of  supplication  that  it  seemed 
to  them  that  God  must  and  would  hear  and  answer 
her  prayers.  And  even  while  she  prayed,  led  home 
by  a  Providence  that  was  in  this  work,  and  governing 
its  issues,  the  man  stood  at  the  very  door  of  the  room 
in  which  the  petition  went  up,  and  heard  every  one  of 
its  carefully-chosen  and  reverently-uttered  sentences. 
Did  he  enter  the  room  all  broken  down  ?  No ;  he 
went  quietly  away,  giving  no  sign,  but  with  an 
arrow  of  conviction  in  his  heart.  God  had  found  a 
way  of  entrance,  and  was  uncovering  old  memories 
and  quickening  old  states,  and  calling  to  him  from 
away  down  among  the  innocent  things  of  his  child 
hood.  And  he  was  hearkening,  and  repenting,  and 
desiring  a  truer  and  better  life  than  the  one  he  had 
been  leading.  It  was  not  long  before  the  change 
came ;  for  the  good  will  is  never  long  in  finding  the 
good  way.  In  the  work  of  destroying  the  souls  and 
bodies  of  men  there  was  one  less ;  and  in  the  work 
of  service  and  restoration  one  more.  Nay,  might  I 
not  say  many  more — for  the  duplication  and  increase 
of  every  man's  good  or  evil  work  is  often  very 
great." 

"And  is  there  much  of  this  kind  of  work  going 
on  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  and  it  is  being  gradually 
shaped  into  a  system.  Mistakes  are  being  corrected; 
and  the  blind  enthusiasm  of  too  impetuous  and 
strong-willed  leaders  repressed.  The  quiet  intrusion 
that  takes  the  enemy  off  guard  is  surer  of  victory 


258 


SA  VED 


than  the  open  attack  for  which  the  blast  of  a  trum 
pet  has  given  warning  to  be  ready.  A  besieged  city 
that  is  proof  against  assault,  may  be  reduced  to  capit 
ulation  through  the  cutting  off  of  supplies.  All  this 
is  being  seen  and  understood.  If  neither  by  direct 
effort  with  a  saloon-keeper,  nor  indirectly  through 
his  family,  he  can  be  induced  to  give  up  his  hurtful 
business,  then  a  thorough  work  of  temperance  re 
form  will  be  inaugurated  in  his  neighborhood,  and 
the  profits  of  his  business  be  reduced,  and  if  possi 
ble  destroyed,  through  the  loss  of  custom." 

"  Temperance  men  and  temperance  organizations 
have  been  trying  to  do  this  very  thing  for  over  fifty 
years,"  I  replied,  "  and  the  sale  of  liquor  has  in 
creased  instead  of  diminishing.  So  long  as  you  have 
the  saloons  you  will  have  the  customers.  My  faith 
in  this  thorough  work  of  temperance  reform  of  which 
you  speak,  is  not,  I  am  free  to  say,  very  great.  I 
well  remember  the  rise  and  progress  of  that  first 
great  tidal  wave  of  reform,  known  as  Washington- 
ianism,  which  went  sweeping  over  the  land.  Hun 
dreds  of  thousands  took  the  pledge  in  a  brief  period, 
and  we  looked  for  a  great  percentage  of  diminution 
in  the  traffic,  if  not  its  destruction  altogether.  But 
taverns  and  bar-rooms  went  on  flourishing  as  of  old. 
As  that  great  wave  began  to  subside,  another,  and  a 
feebler  wave,  that  of  Jeffersonianisrn,  succeeded,  and 
broke  upon  the  rock-bound  shores  of  license,  and 
usage,  and  appetite,  with  scarcely  a  manifest  im 
pression.  Then  the  work  of  a  more  general  orgaui- 


AS  BY  FIRE.  250 

zation  began,  and  the  order  of  the  Sons  of  Temper 
ance  was  established,  and  set  itself  to  the  task  of 
resistance.  The  promise  was  very  great.  It  looked 
as  if  we  were  going  to  have,  in  every  town  and 
neighborhood,  and  in  every  city  ward,  a  working 
force  of  temperance  men,  whose  leading  end  and 
effort  would  be  the  extirpation  of  intemperance  from 
their  midst.  But  it  was  not  so.  Good  work  was 
done  in  many  places ;  and  thousands  were  protected 
and  saved  through  pledges  and  associations,  but  the 
lodge  meetings  fostered  a  love  of  social  ease  and  en 
joyment,  and  steadily  diminished  the  aggressive 
force  of  the  organization.  Then  the  Good  Templars 
came  to  the  front,  and  associated  women  in  the  work 
and  administration  of  the  order.  But  the  same  gen 
eral  causes  which  had  wrought  their  enervating  effects 
on  the  Sons  of  Temperance,  were  in  operation  with 
the  Templars  and  kindred  organizations  as  well. 
Love  of  office  and  of  power  and  influence  crept  in, 
as  they  usually  do  where  there  are  titles  and  honors 
and  distinctions,  and  were  of  more  account  with 
many  than  the  high  purpose  of  the  order  itself. 
And  so  the  work  of  temperance  languished,  and  the 
enemy  went  on  increasing  in  strength  and  confidence. 
What  better  promise  now  ?  What  is  to  make  this 
movement  any  more  permanent  than  those  which 
have  gone  before  it  ?  Human  nature  is  the  same. 
Enthusiasm  will  die  of  exhaustion,  and  the  weari 
ness  in  well-doing,  which  is  sure  to  come,  sooner  or 
later,  make  idle  the  hands  that  are  now  so  busy. 


2GO 


SA  VED 


This  reform  work  is  so  slow.  We  scarcely  perceive 
its  progress,  and  are  often  in  doubt  whether  the 
movement  be  retrograde  or  onward.  I  must  own  to 
having  more  faith  in  legal  than  in  moral  suasion ;  in 
Maine  Laws  than  in  pledges." 

"  You  forgot  the  new  element,"  said  Granger. 

"  What?" 

"  Prayer." 

"  Yes,  I  had  forgotten." 

"  This  is  a  religious  as  well  as  a  temperance  move 
ment." 

''True." 

"And  the  effort  is  not  merely  to  save  men  and 
women  from  the  sin  of  drunkenness,  but  from  all 
other  sins.  It  is  on  a  higher  plane,  and  nearer  the 
true  sources  of  power.  There  is  less  of  self  in  it, 
and  more  of  God." 

Granger  spoke  with  great  seriousness ;  and  I  saw 
that  he  had  strong  faith  in  the  results  of  this  new 
effort  to  organize  a  force  that  should  have  larger 
BUCCCSS  than  any  which  had  hitherto  set  itself  to  do 
battle  with  intemperance. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

GOSPEL  TEMPERANCE  WORK. 

ri  THE  work  of  "Gospel  Temperance,"  as  some 
J-  began  to  call  this  latest  effort  to  weaken  and 
destroy  the  monster  evil  which  had  so  long  cursed 
the  land,  had  a  steady  growth.  Pious  women  in  all 
the  churches  began  to  take  part  in  it,  and  to, 
strengthen  its  effective  agencies.  Prayer  was  inces 
sant,  and  trusted  in  with  implicit  confidence.  There 
was  a  literal  acceptance  of  the  promise,  "That  if 
two  of  you  shall  agree  upon  earth  as  touching  any 
thing  that  they  shall  ask,  it  shall  be  done  for  them 
of  my  Father  which  is  in  Heaven."  They  believed 
in  the  faith  that  removes  mountains ;  and  in  the 
Word  of  Him  who  said,  "Ask  and  ye  shall  receive; 
seek  and  ye  shall  find ;  knock  and  it  shall  be  opened 
unto  you."  And  when  they  met  in  His  name,  they 
had  an  assurance  that  He  was  in  the  midst  of  them. 
They  were  consecrating  themselves  to  the  work  of 
saving  souls  that  were  well-nigh  lost.  Souls  so  far 
out  of  the  reach  of  common  Gospel  influences,  that 
even  the  churches  had  practically  ceased  to  regnrd 
them  as  within  the  pale  of  salvation,  and  knew  that 
God's  power  to  save  could  be  given  them  in  the 
largest  measure ;  for  were  not  these  souls,  so  fearfully 
imperilled,  as  precious  to  Him  as  the  souls  of  any 
in  His  whole  universe? 
261 


262  8A  VED 

Never  had  the  poor,  degraded,  suffering  drunkard 
met,  since  his  sad  debasement,  with  such  influences 
as  came  to  him  now.  "  My  brother  "  fell  on  his  ears 
in  a  voice  so  tender  and  compassionate,  that  feelings, 
which  had  lain  dormant  for  years,  stirred  in  his 
heart  once  more.  A  hand  was  laid  on  him  so  gently 
and  kindly,  that  it  seemed  like  the  hand  of  a  sister, 
or  a  wife,  or  a  mother,  felt  in  the  long  ago.  And 
when  prayer  was  offered  for  him,  and  he  felt  him 
self  borne  up  to  the  throne  of  grace  on  the  sweet, 
and  tender,  and  pleading  voices  of  gentle  women, 
he  broke  all  down,  and  under  the  suddenly-kindled 
hope  of  being  rescued  from  his  sin  and  misery,  Le 
lifted  his  poor,  broken  spirit  to  God  and  prayed  for 
help,  and  mercy,  and  forgiveness. 

Differ  as  we  may  about  the  philosophy  of  prayer, 
and  the  true  sources  of  its  power,  of  one  thing  we  may 
be  sure,  that  the  ear  of  God  is  open  to  the  cry  of  every 
ein-sick  soul,  if  it  is  made  in  sincerity  and  in  truth. 
As  to  the  answer,  that  will  depend  on  the  measure  of 
the  willingness  to  receive.  The  love  and  the  boun- 
tifulness  are  infinite  The  cry  of  the  lips  will  bring 
nothing;  the  cry  of  the  heart  everything  it  is  capable 
of  receiving ;  and  its  capacity  will  always  be  equal  to 
the  displacement  of  evil  in  the  life,  because  such  evil 
is  contrary  to  God's  will  and  Word,  and  obstructs 
His  influent  love.  The  growth  in  grace,  from  the 
first  moment  the  soul  turns  to  God  in  prayer,  and 
makes  its  first  sincere  effort  to  lead  a  new  spiritual 
Jife,  will  be  in  an  exact  ratio  to  its  resistance  and 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  263 

conquest  of  evil  on  the  plane  of  its  natural  life  in 
the  world  and  among  men. 

Prayer,  in  the  hands  of  these  women,  wrought 
marvels.  Men  who  had  been  drunkards  for  years, 
stopped  suddenly,  professed  faith  in  Christ,  joined 
the  church,  and  became  once  more  good  and  useful 
citizens.  So  quietly  was  all  this  done,  in  the  second 
stage  of  this  Gospel  temperance  work,  that  the 
general  public  heard  little  about  it,  and  knew  less. 
But  the  seed  was  being  sown  broadcast,  and  in  due 
time  the  promise  of  an  ampler  harvest  than  had  yet 
been  seen  was  apparent  on  every  side.  Many  men 
who  had  become  reformed  through  the  ministry  of 
prayer,  threw  themselves  into  the  work  of  rescuing 
the  fallen ;  going  from  town  to  town,  and  by  their 
eloquent  appeals,  stirring  the  hearts  of  the  people, 
and  arousing  them  to  a  sense  of  their  duty  and  their 
danger. 

Arid  now,  one  after  another,  the  slumbering 
churches  began  to  awake  and  to  recognize  the  hand 
of  God  in  this  work,  and  to  give  it  countenance  and 
approval,  if  not  the  practical  support  it  yet  so  largely 
needed.  But  the  work  itself  went  on  chiefly  outside 
of  the  churches,  though  in  the  hands  of  the  most 
active  and  earnest  Christian  men  and  women  con 
nected  with  the  churches ;  for  it  was  nearer  to  hu 
manity  than  to  sectarian  conservatism,  and  drew  to  its 
aid  those  who  had  in  them  the  larger  measure  of  that 
Christianity  which  stoops,  as  Christ  stoops,  to  the 
lowest  and  the  vilest,  if  in  so  doing  he  may  save  them. 


264 

"  I  do  not  understand  this  strange  indifference  of 
the  churches,"  said  I,  to  Granger,  one  day.  "  In 
temperance  work,  they  are  doing  little  or  nothing ; 
and  they  might  be  doing  so  much." 

"There  are  signs  of  better  things,"  he  replied. 
"  Let  us  be  patient  for  awhile.  The  time  is  not  far 
off,  I  trust,  when  every  society  that  calls  itself  a 
church,  will  have  its  special  praying  and  working 
band  of  women,  and  an  open  door  for  the  lowest 
and  the  vilest  to  come  in ;  when  the  heathen  who 
are  perishing  in  the  very  shadow  of  its  porches  will 
take  precedence  of  the  heathen  afar  off.  We  have 
cheering  intelligence  from  all  sides.  Almost  every 
day  we  hear  of  new  workers  coming  into  the  field, 
and  of  successes  every  where.  In  some  places,  from 
one-third  to  two-thirds  of  the  whole  population  have 
signed  the  pledge,  to  the  joy  of  good  citizens  and 
the  consternation  of  liquor-dealers." 

"  If  we  could  have  anything  like  that  in  our  poor, 
rum-cursed  city !"  I  replied.  "  But  hope  is  vain.  In 
smaller  communities,  where  each  is  known  to  all, 
and  a  chain  of  interest  and  personal  influence  holds 
the  people  in  nearer  contact,  a  common  sentiment  or 
impulse  may  bear  them  in  a  single  direction.  But 
it  is  not  so  here.  Set  any  force  you  please  in  motion, 
and  its  impression  can  only  be  partial." 

"  We  hope  for  a  widely  different  result,"  Granger 
made  answer.  "  Next  week  a  man  whose  power 
with  the  people  is  almost  a  marvel  and  a  mystery, 
will  come  from  the  West  to  our  city ;  and  then  an 


AS  BY  FIRE.  265 

effort  will  be  made,  through  daily  and  nightly  relig 
ious  meetings,  to  get  up  such  a  temperance  revival 
as  has  never  been  seen  or  heard  of  in  the  land." 

I  smiled  at  his  ardor.  He  had  become  almost  an 
enthusiast  on  the  subject  of  temperance. 

"  We  shall  see,"  was  my  doubting  response. 

And  we  did  see.  The  man  came — this  new  apostle 
of  temperance.  He  was  not  learned,  but  had  largely 
the  gift  of  persuasion  ;  was  not  so  eloquent  as  ready 
of  speech  ;  not  so  logical  as  impassioned ;  moved  his 
audiences  not  so  much  by  the  clearness  of  a  well- 
considered  argument,  as  by  the  force  of  fact  and  in 
cident.  He  was  easy  of  manner,  and  at  home  with 
the  people;  recognizing  in  the  lowliest  and  most 
wretched  a  brother,  and  telling  the  poor  drunkard, 
whose  hand  he  held  so  tightly,  that  he  knew  all 
about  the  pit  in  which  his  feet  were  mired,  and  all 
about  the  way  of  deliverance.  "As  God  saved  me,  my 
brother,  He  will  save  you,"  was  ever  spoken  with 
that  sympathy  and  assurance  which  gives  speech 
a  passage  to  the  heart.  From  the  very  commence 
ment  of  his  work,  Francis  Murphy  exercised  an 
influence  that  to  some  appeared  half-miraculous. 
The  halls  in  which  his  meetings  in  our  city  were 
held,  were  crowded  night  after  night  to  overflowing, 
hundreds  being  unable  to  gain  access.  In  the 
conduct  of  these  meetings,  there  were  no  particu 
larly  remarkable  features.  They  were  opened  with 
the  reading  of  Scripture  and  prayer,  followed  by 
Then  there  would  be  addresses  from 
17 


2GG  SAVED 

clergymen  and  others,  including  Mr.  Murphy ;  and 
speeches  and  experiences  from  reformed  men — the 
whole  interspersed  with  the  singing  of  temperance 
and  revival  hymns.  During  the  progress  of  the 
meetings,  and  at  their  close,  invitations  to  come  and 
sign  the  pledge  were  given  and  responded  to,  very 
many  coming  forward  each  night  and  taking  the 
pledge  of  total  abstinence;  the  number  soon  in 
creasing  from  hundreds  to  thousands.  Men  would 
enter  the  hall  so  badly  intoxicated  that  they  could 
scarcely  walk  straight,  and  before  leaving  sign  their 
names  to  a  pledge,  and  in  many  cases  keep  it.  It 
was  not  with  poor,  degraded  wretches  alone — the 
outcast  and  the  abandoned — that  these  meetings 
had  power.  Men  of  standing  and  education,  who 
were  beginning  to  feel  the  strength  of  an  appetite 
that  too  surely  betrays  to  ruin ;  lawyers,  mer 
chants,  physicians ;  the  representatives  of  all  con 
ditions  and  classes — alike  felt  the  warning  or  the 
persuasion  that  came  to  them,  and  alike  took 
heed. 

"  Will  it  last  ?"  was  my  question  after  the  weeks 
had  begun  gathering  into  months. 

"  Does  not  my  good  friend  live  too  close  to 
Doubting  Castle?"  returned  Granger,  to  whom  I 
had  addressed  the  inquiry.  lie  was  already  deeply 
absorbed  in  the  exciting  movement. 

"  Perhaps.  But  we  hear  of  things  being  too  good 
to  last,  you  know." 

"  Things  may  be  too  bad  to  last ;  but  never  too 


AS  BY  FIRE.  2G7 

good.  It  is  only  the  good  that  is  really  substan 
tial,"  he  returned,  smiling. 

"  The  good  will  last,  of  course.  But  how  much 
is  really  genuine  in  all  this,  and  how  much  facti 
tious  ?  Of  the  scores  who  nightly  sign  the  pledge, 
and  are  pointed  to  God  as  the  One  who  alone  can 
give  them  strength  to  keep  it,  how  many  do  you 
think  will  stand?" 

"  God  only  knows,"  he  replied,  a  little  soberly, 
and  with,  I  thought,  a  slight  disturbance  in  his 
manner. 

"A  suddenly  inspired  good  resolution ;  a  cry  to 
God  for  help ;  the  impression  of  an  inner  change 
which  may  be  nothing  more  than  a  feeling;  the 
signing  of  a  pledge — all  the  work  of  a  minute,  it 
may  be ;  are  these  to  be  relied  upon  with  any  well- 
grounded  assurance  ?"  I  said.  "  The  man  is  here  to 
night  in  the  sphere  of  an  excitement  that  moves  him 
deeply.  He  sees,  as  he  has  not  seen  for  a  long  time, 
his  sin  and  wretchedness ;  the  pain  and  loss  to  him 
self,  and  the  wrongs  and  sufferings  of  those  who 
love  him  or  are  dependent  on  him.  And  he  sees, 
too,  a  way  of  escape,  and  hands  reached  out  with  a 
promise  of  help.  He  signs  the  pledge,  and  tries  to 
look  up  and  pray.  Hopeful  words  are  spoken  in 
his  ears.  He  is  pointed,  in  a  few  words,  to  Christ 
as  his  Saviour.  And  then  he  goes  out  alone,  hungry, 
it  may  be,  and  homeless,  to  sleep  in  the  street  or 
station-house.  What  hope  for  him,  with  his  ex 
hausted  nerves  and  gnawing  thirst?  He  wants  more 


268  SA  VED 

than  pledge  or  prayer ;  he  wants  good  food,  shcltci 
and  protection ;  and,  until  he  can  stand  alone,  a 
hand  to  hold  him  up ;  and  if  these  are  not  given,  it 
were  about  as  well  to  let  him  alone." 

As  I  spoke,  I  saw  the  shadows  that  were  falling 
over  Granger's  face  grow  deeper. 

"  We  have  not  forgotten  this,"  he  replied.  "  We 
have  a  relief  committee,  and  are  doing  what  we  can. 
Every  Sunday  morning,  a  breakfast  is  provided. 
Clothing,  as  far  as  we  are  able  to  procure  it,  is  dis 
tributed,  employment  obtained,  and  all  the  protec 
tion  in  our  power  to  throw  about  the  men  who  are 
trying  to  reform.  But  the  work  is  taking  on  dimen 
sions  so  far  beyond  what  we  had  anticipated,  that 
we  find  ourselves  without  sufficient  means  for  its 
thorough  prosecution.  We  give  our  time,  our  efforts 
and  our  money;  but  we  who  are  active  in  this  move 
ment  are  few  compared  with  the  thousands  who 
stand  looking  on,  wondering,  approving,  doubting  or 
criticising.  'What  is  a  Sunday-morning  breakfast?' 
said  a  gentleman  only  to-day.  '  Can  a  man  live  on 
a  single  meal  a  week?'  But  when  I  asked  him  to 
give  us  money,  that  we  might  minister  more  largely, 
his  answer  was  that  he  knew  where  better  to  dis 
pense  his  charity.  Perhaps  he  did,  and  I  shall  not 
judge  him.  'It  isn't  so  much  praying,  as  food  and 
clothing  and  employment  that  are  needed,'  said  an 
other.  *  If  there  were  less  talking  and  canting,  and 
more  good,  solid  doing  for  these  poor  wretches,  the 
chances  in  their  favor  would  be  increased  ten  to  one.' 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  260 

And  yet  I  could  not  so  interest  him  in  their  behalf 
as  to  get  from  him  either  personal  or  material  aid." 

There  was  an  undertone  of  trouble  in  Granger's 
voice,  which  fell  to  a  heavy  sigh  in  the  closing  words 
of  his  last  sentence. 

"  From  four  to  five  hundred  destitute  men  seeking 
aid/'  he  resumed,  "  and  our  resources  utterly  inade 
quate  to  the  demands  that  are  made  upon  us — hun 
gry,  half-clothed,  and  in  too  many  cases,  homeless 
men.  We  may  arrest  their  feet  by  Gospel  means ; 
but  if  we  would  turn  their  steps  into  the  ways  of 
sobriety  and  hold  them  there,  we  must  meet  and  care 
for  them  on  a  lower  plane.  If  we  would  lift  them 
into  spiritual  safety,  we  must  get  the  foundations  of 
natural  life  secure.  An  empty  stomach,  and  soiled 
and  ragged  and  scanty  clothing,  with  idleness  super- 
added,  are  not,  I  agree  with  you,  favorable  to  the 
growth  of  true  piety.  The  struggle  with  this  dread 
ful  appetite  is  hard  enough  under  the  most  favorable 
conditions;  and,  therefore,  our  work  must  be  re 
garded  as  only  initiated  when,  by  force  of  these  new 
spiritual  influences,  we  have  been  able  to  draw  the 
unhappy  victims  of  intemperance  over  from  the 
enemy's  ground." 

As  we  talked  a  man  entered — I  was  sitting  in  Mr. 
Granger's  office — and  came  forward  in  a  hesitating, 
half-embarrassed  manner.  His  clothing  was  poor 
and  soiled,  his  person  unsightly,  and  his  face  that  of 
an  exhausted  inebriate.  He  stopped  when  a  few 
steps  from  us,  and  said :  "  You  do  not  know  me." 


270  SA  VED 

We  both  recognized  him  by  his  voice.  He  had 
been  a  conveyancer,  and  a  man  with  some  property; 
but  intemperate  habits  had  done  for  him  what  they 
too  surely  accomplish  for  nearly  all  who  indulge 
them. 

"  Yes,  I  know  you,  Hartley,"  Granger  answered, 
quickly,  rising  as  he  spoke,  and  grasping  the  man's 
hand.  He  held  it  for  some  moments,  looking  in 
tently  into  his  face.  "  Didn't  I  see  you  at  the  meet 
ing  in  Broad  Street,  last  night?"  he  asked,  while 
still  holding  his  hand. 

"  Yes,  I  was  there." 

"And  you  signed  the  pledge  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  After  I  heard  you  speak,  I  said,  if 
God  can  save  Granger,  He  can  si/ve  me,  and  I'm 
going  to  try  this  new  way." 

"  God  can  and  will  save  you,  my  friend,"  was 
Granger's  warm  response.  "Sit  down  and  let  us 
talk  about  it." 

He  drew  Hartley  into  a  chair,  and  sat  down  in 
front  of  him. 

"  Now,  tell  me  all  about  yourself."  There  was  a 
genuine  interest  in  his  voice ;  and  its  effect  upon 
this  poor  wreck  of  a  man,  was  to  send  a  glow  to  his 
face,  and  cause  his  dull  eyes  to  kindle.  "  How  is  it 
with  you ;  and  what  the  chances  are  for  getting  on 
your  feet  again.  Tell  me  all  about  it.  You  signed 
the  pledge  last  night?" 

"  Yes,  I  signed  at  the  meeting  in  Broad  Street. 
And  you  were  standing  just  in  front  of  me,  and 


AS  BY  FIC.E.  271 

looking  at  me;  and  I  heard  you  say,  'Trust  in  God, 
my  brother.  Look  to  Him,  and  pray  to  Him,  and 
He  will  give  you  strength  to  keep  this  pledge.'  You 
said  it  to  me ;  but  I  saw  that  you  didn't  know  me. 
I  wanted  to  speak  to  you,  and  to  tell  you  who  I  was; 
and  I  was  pressing  forward  when  some  one  drew  you 
away,  and  then  I  couldn't  get  near  you  again.  I 
waited  at  the  door  until  you  came  out;  but  you  were 
talking  with  a  gentleman,  and  while  I  hesitated  about 
interrupting  you,  you  passed  down  the  street,  and  I 
was  left  standing  alone." 

"  Where  did  you  go  after  that  ?"  asked  Granger. 

"  I  had  nowhere  to  go.  In  this  whole  city,  there 
was  no  place  that  I  could  call  my  home — no  house 
in  which  I  could  claim  the  right  to  lay  my  head. 
My  wife  died  three  years  ago ;  and  my  only  child  is 
with  my  mother,  who  lives  in  a  neighboring  town. 
I  am  alone  and  friendless." 

"  No ;  not  friendless,"  said  Granger,  his  voice 
struggling  with  his  feelings.  "  There  is  One  who 
sticketh  closer  than  a  brother.  He  is  your  friend." 

The  poor  man  looked  down  at  his  wretched  gar 
ments  in  a  way  that  it  was  not  hard  to  understand. 
His  face  did  not  brighten  perceptibly  under  this  last 
assurance. 

"  Where  did  you  sleep  last  night  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  I  would  have  gone  to  one  of  the  police-stations, 
but  was  afraid  of  being  sent  to  the  House  of  Correc 
tion.  You  see  I  had  taken  the  pledge,  and  in  a  new 
way,  and  I  was  going  to  try  to  keep  it,  if  God  would 


972  SA  VED 

indeed  help  me,  as  it  kept  coming  to  me  that  Ho 
would.  So  I  walked  out  to  Fairmount,  and  as  the 
night  was  dark,  I  found  it  easy  to  hide  away  in  a 
place  where  the  police  wouldn't  find  me,  and  there 
I  slept  till  morning.  I  got  some  breakfast,  and  have 
been  trying  ever  since  to  find  something  to  do.  But 
it's  no  use.  I'm  not  a  fit  object  to  be  in  anybody's 
place  of  business." 

And  again  he  cast  down  a  dreary  look  at  his  un 
sightly  clothing. 

"  Of  course  you  are  not,"  said  Mr.  Granger.  "  I'm 
sorry  you  didn't  speak  to  me  last  night.  And  now, 
if  you  are  in  real  earnest,  Mr.  Hartley,  we'll  see  if 
something  can't  be  done  for  you." 

"  God  knows  that  I'm  in  earnest,  sir,"  he  said, 
with  a  sudden  trembling  eagerness.  "  I  lay  awake 
so  long  last  night,  thinking  over  my  whole  life, 
and  many  times  asking  God  to  help  me  to  live 
a  better  one  in  future.  But  I'm  down  so  low 
that  it  seems  as  if  there  was  no  way  for  me  to  get 
up  all  by  myself.  I'm  like  a  man  in  the  sea 
who  will  drown  unless  somebody  throws  him  a 
rope." 

"  You  shall  have  the  rope."  Granger  spoke  in 
no  uncertain  voice. 

It  was  plain  from  Hartley's  exhausted  and  nervous 
state,  that  he  was  in  no  condition  to  enter  at  once 
upon  any  employment.  He  wanted  rest,  quiet  and 
protection ;  with  healthy  mental  surroundings,  and 
IL  sufficient  quantity  of  nutritious  food.  \Ve  knew 


AS  BY  FIRE.  273 

of  but  one  place  in  the  city  where  these  could  be 
secured ;  and  there  we  took  him. 

Two  weeks  in  the  Franklin  Home,  and  you  would 
not  have  known  the  man.  Even  before  the  lapse  of 
that  time  he  had  found  employment  in  the  office  of 
a,  conveyancer  who  had  been  with  him  as  a  boy,  and 
who  now  felt  a  deep  interest  in  the  welfare  of  his 
old  preceptor. 

"  I  have  had  one  of  the  sweetest  passages  of  my 
life,"  said  Granger,  whom  I  met  a  few  weeks  after 
wards.  "  I  was  in  Chester  day  before  yesterday, 
where  I  went  to  make  an  address  at  one  of  the  meet 
ings  now  being  held  in  that  town.  In  the  audience, 
and  sitting  close  to  the  platform,  I  noticed  an  old 
lady,  and  a  young  girl  about  sixteen  years  of  age, 
both  plainly  dressed,  but  with  something  in  their 
faces  that  caused  my  eyes  to  turn  towards  them  fre 
quently.  There  was  a  look  of  subdued  and  patient 
trouble  in  the  face  of  the  elder ;  and  a  grave  quiet 
in  that  of  the  younger.  While  I  spoke  their  eyes 
did  not  seem  to  be  off  of  me  for  a  moment.  During 
my  address  I  mentioned  Hartley's  case,  referring  to 
him  with  some  particularity.  As  I  progressed,  I 
noticed  that  the  old  lady  began  to  lean  forward  with 
an  air  of  deep  interest,  if  not  eager  expectancy ;  and 
I  fancied  that  the  girl  by  her  side  was  turning  pale. 
All  at  once  it  flashed  on  me  that  these  might  be  the 
mother  and  daughter  of  the  man  whose  rescue  I  was 
describing,  and  the  impression  was  so  strong  that  I 
held  back  the  name  of  Hartley  as  it  was  coming  to 


274  SA  VED 

my  lips,  and  closed  my  relation  of  the  case  with  the 
words :  '  Another  soul  saved  through  the  power  of 
that  Divine  strength  which  is  freely  given  to  all  who 
will  receive  it/ 

"At  the  close  of  the  meeting  I  saw  that  the  two 
women  were  lingering  in  their  seats  while  the  audi 
ence  slowly  retired;  and  that  their  eyes  were  turned 
towards  the  platform  where  I  remained  talking  with 
some  members  of  the  committee  which  had  the 
meetings  in  charge.  They  were  almost  alone  when 
I  came  down  and  commenced  moving  along  the  aisle. 
'  May  I  speak  a  word  with  you  ?'  said  the  elder  of 
the  two  ladies,  laying  her  hand  at  the  same  time  on 
my  arm.  I  saw  a  quiver  in  her  face.  '  What  is  the 
name?'  I  asked.  'Mrs.  Hartley/  she  replied,  softly, 
and  as  if  half  afraid  to  utter  her  own  name.  Then 
I  knew  it  all,  and  my  heart  gave  a  sudden  bound  of 
gladness.  Dear  old  mother.  I  felt  like  putting 
my  arm  about  her  and  crying  out :  '  This  thy  son 
that  was  dead  is  alive  again  !'  But  I  kept  a  guard 
on  my  lips,  not  knowing  how  the  good  news,  if  bro 
ken  too  suddenly,  might  affect  her;  and  taking  her 
hand,  said  :  '  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  Mrs.  Hartley.' 
'  I  would  like  to  ask  you  a  question,  sir/  she  said, 
beginning  now  to  show  considerable  agitation.  'First/ 
I  replied,  '  let  me  ask  you  one.  Have  you  a  son 
named  Lloyd  Hartley?' 

"  Her  startled  fr.ce  became  white  as  ashes ;  and 
she  caught  hold  of  me  with  a  tight  grasp  of  the 
hand.  'Thank  God  for  his  deliverance/ 1  said,  softly. 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  275 

Her  slender  form  sunk  down  upon  the  seat  by  which 
she  was  standing,  and  her  head  drooped  over  her 
breast.  She  was  very  still,  and  I  knew  that  her 
heart  was  lifting  itself  in  thankfulness  to  God.  '  In 
the  strength  of  Him  who  conquered  death  and  hell, 
your  son  shall  stand  now  as  a  rock/  said  I,  bending 
to  her  ear.  '  Pie  is  trusting  no  more  in  his  own 
weakness,  but  in  the  power  of  the  Infinite  and  the 
Almighty.  I  know  what  that  dependence  means ; 
and  because  of  this  knowledge  I  have  hope  for  your 
son.'  '  Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord !'  came  in 
a  low,  tender  out-breathing  of  gladness  from  her 
lips.  Her  head  was  still  bowed  and  her  face  hidden. 
Then,  as  she  reached  up  one  of  her  hands,  she  whis 
pered  :  '  Darling,  where  are  you  ?'  and  in  a  moment 
after  her  arm  was  about  the  neck  of  her  grand 
daughter  ;  and  the  two  clung  together,  weeping 
silently.  And  all  was  so  quiet  and  unobtrusive,  that 
the  people  passed  out  scarcely  noticing  anything  un 
usual  until  we  were  left  almost  alone. 

" '  I  have  been  praying  for  him  night  and  day 
ever  since  the  temperance  revival  began/  said  the 
happy  mother,  as  I  sat  with  her  that  evening  in  her 
home,  replying  to  her  questions,  and  giving  her  all 
the  assurances  in  my  power.  'And  God  has  an 
swered  my  prayers.  And  when  He  saves,  it  is  no 
half  work,  but  a  true  salvation.  I  have  no  hope  in 
anything  else.  My  son  has  taken  pledge  after 
pledge ;  has  made  and  tried  to  keep  good  resolu 
tions  over  and  over  again ;  but  only  to  fall,  and 


276 


SA  VED 


each  time  to  a  lower  and  a  lower  depth.  If  he  had 
put  his  trust  in  God,  if  he  had  prayed  for  grace  and 
strength,  and  entered,  as  you  tell  me  he  is  now 
doing,  upon  a  Christian  life,  it  would  have  been 
far  different.  It  is  the  Christian  life  that  saves; 
and  it  saves  from  drunkenness  as  well  as  from 
every  other  sin;  for  all  sin  must  be  removed  be 
fore  there  can  be  a  dwelling-place  for  Christ  in  the 
soul.' 

"  I  have  felt  happier  and  stronger  ever  since," 
Granger  continued.  "  It  was  really  touching  to  see 
this  mother's  confidence.  She  had  been  praying 
and  weeping  before  God  night  and  day  for  weeks- 
pleading  for  this  son  that  he  might  be  turned  from 
the  evil  of  his  ways.  She  did  not  even  know  where 
he  was ;  but  she  knew  that  her  Lord  and  Master 
knew.  And  now,  when,  as  she  believed,  her 
prayers  had  been  answered  in  his  conversion,  she 
rejoiced  and  was  confident.  The  Everlasting  Arms 
were  about  him,  and  he  would  dwell  secure." 

"  Happy  faith !''  I  made  answer.  "  May  its 
foundations  never  be  removed." 

"  I  think  they  never  will-,"  Granger  said.  "  If 
her  prayers  did  not  avail  just  in  the  order  of  her 
belief,  they  still  availed,  and  her  son  has  been 
brought  within  the  fold ;  and  there  is,  in  the  spirit 
he  manifests,  something  that  gives  me  confidence  in 
his  stability." 

"  Have  you  told  Hartley  about  this  meeting  with 
his  mother  and  daughter  ?"  I  asked. 


AS  BY  FIRE.  277 

"  Oh,  yes.  And  they  have  been  up  to  the  city  to 
see  him." 

"A  happy  re-union." 

"  You  would  have  said  so  if  you  had  seen  them 
together.  Dear  old  lady  I  The  love,  and  tender 
ness,  and  joy-subdued  that  were  in  her  face  as  she 
sat  and  looked  at  her  son,  to  whom  much  of  the  old 
true  manliness  of  expression  and  bearing  has  al 
ready  commenced  coming  back,  was  beautiful  and 
touching  to  witness.  It  will  not  be  a  long  time,  I 
think,  before  there  will  be  one  home  for  them  all, 
and  that  a  happy  one." 

And  it  was  not  long. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

WONDERFUL  REFORMATIONS. 

STRIKING  cases  of  reformation,  like  the  one 
related,  yet  varying  as  to  the  incidents,  were  of 
daily  occurrence.  Men  who  had  been  for  years 
regarded  as  hopeless  drunkards,  made  a  new  effort 
to  struggle  out  of  the  swift  waters  that  were  bearing 
them  to  ruin,  and  caught  eagerly  at  the  new  means 
of  rescue  that  were  offered.  Families  long  sepa 
rated  were  united  again ;  and  men  who  had  been 
dead  weights  and  burdens  upon  society,  became 
once  more  good  and  useful  citizens. 

"A  glorious  work  !"  was  heard  on  all  sides.  But 
the  men  who  were  in  the  midst  of  it — who  came 
into  direct  contact  with  the  scores  and  hundreds  of 
wretched  creatures  who  had  sounded  the  lowest 
depths  of  misery  and  degradation,  who  were  home 
less,  friendless,  penniless,  and  mentally,  morally  and 
physically  so  enervated  as  to  be  scarcely  capable  of 
an  effort  in  the  direction  of  self-recovery,  found 
themselves  confronted  with  a  task  of  almost  appall 
ing  magnitude.  What  was  to  be  done  with  and  for 
these  men,  whose  idle  hands  were  held  out  in 
piteous  appeal  for  work,  and  whose  hungry  faces 
and  dirty  and  tattered  garments  pleaded  mutely  for 
relief?  Nightly  the  great  meeting  hall  was 
278 


AS  B  Y  FIRE. 


279 


crowded  to  overflowing,  and  nightly  the  increase 
went  on. 

"It  is  one  thing,"  I  said  to  Mr.  Granger,  as  I 
walked  home  with  him  from  one  of  these  meetings, 
"  to  reap  this  great  harvest,  but  quite  another  thing 
to  garner  and  preserve  the  grain.  I  sadly  fear  that 
much  of  it  will  never  be  gathered  out  of  the  field. 
The  work  is  too  much  en  masse,  and  too  little  in 
detail.  The  numbers  who  sign  the  pledge  every 
night  cannot  be  regarded  as  a  measure  of  the  good 
that  is  being  done." 

"  You  must  bear  in  mind,"  he  replied,  "  that  all 
who  sign  at  these  meetings  are  not  the  utterly  desti 
tute  and  homeless ;  nor  of  those  who  have  lost  the 
power  to  control  their  appetites.  The  larger  pro 
portion  are  men  engaged  in  work  or  business,  to 
whom  so  strong  a  conviction  of  danger  has  come 
that  they  take  the  pledge  for  protection  and  safety. 
Most  of  these  will  find  elements  of  strength  and 
encouragement  in  their  homes  and  among  friends." 

"True;  but  if  it  be  as  was  said  to-night,  that 
there  are  from  four  to  five  hundred  of  the  destitute 
and  friendless  class  who  have  signed  the  pledge, 
and  who  must  have  something  more  to  rest  upon 
than  the  singing,  and  talking,  and  exhortations  to 
stand  fast,  wThich  they  get  at  these  nightly  meet 
ings,  is  it  not  plain  that  the  loss  between  the  reap 
ing  and  the  garnering  is  going  to  be  very  great  ?" 

"You  cannot  feel  the  burden  of  that  thought 
more  heavily  than  we  who  are  in  the  heart  of  tliis 


280 

work.  But  its  growth  has  been  more  rapid  than 
we  had  anticipated,  and  its  proportions  have  already 
assumed  a  magnitude  for  which  we  were  not  pre 
pared.  The  people  are  looking  on  and  wondering. 
Crowds  flock  nightly  to  witness  the  progress  of  the 
movement;  but  how  few  come  up  to  our  help. 
What  would  it  be  for  a  score  of  our  rich  citizens  to 
establish  for  our  use  a  depot  of  clothing  from  which 
we  might  draw  at  will,  and  so  be  able  to  take  off 
the  rags  of  such  men  as  we  found  to  be  in  earnest 
about  reform,  and  send  them  forth  in  sightly  gar 
ments,  that  they  might  be  in  a  condition  to  apply 
for  and  get  employment  ?  Or  what  for  the  churches 
in  our  city — over  four  hundred  in  number — to  do 
the  same  thing  ?" 

"  Is  nothing  really  being  done  to  help  and  save 
these  poor  creatures  ?  When  the  last  hymn  is 
sung,  and  the  benediction  said,  and  the  lights  put 
out,  does  all  care  for  them  cease  ?  Is  there  nothing 
more  until  to-morrow  night — and  then  only  this 
general  work,  which  merely  brings  the  individual  to 
the  front  for  a  little  season,  and  then  lets  him  drift 
out  of  sight,  his  special  needs  unrecognized  and  un 
provided  for?" 

"  If  you  will  come  to  my  office  at  three  o'clock 
to-morrow,  I  will  try  to  give  an  answer  to  your  ques 
tion,"  Granger  replied.  "  I  must  now  take  the  next 
car  that  passes  and  get  home  as  quickly  as  I  can,  as 
it  is  growing  late." 

I  called  at  his  office  at  the  hour  mentioned. 


AS  BY  FIRE.  281 

"  There  is  other  Christian  temperance  work  going 
on  in  our  city  besides  that  remarkable  exhibition  of 
it  which  is  known  as  the  Murphy  movement,"  he 
said.  "  Work  about  which  the  public  knows  little, 
but  which,  in  its  influence  on  that  particular  class 
about  which  we  were  speaking  yesterday,  is  accom 
plishing  a  vast  amount  of  good.  I  am  going  to 
answer  your  question  of  last  evening  by  showing 
you  a  phase  of  this  work — unobtrusive,  yet  very 
effective — and  when  you  see  it,  you  will  know  that, 
while  the  hands  of  the  reapers  are  strong  and  the 
harvest  great,  they  who  gather  and  garner  are  not 
idle." 

I  walked  with  Granger  for  a  number  of  blocks, 
talking  by  the  way.  As  we  left  his  office  he  re 
marked  :  "  You  might  have  known  that  in  a  work 
like  this  the  hands  of  the  women  would  not  be  idle ; 
nor  the  spirit  that  moved  the  late  'Crusaders'  dead. 
There  has  only  been  a  change  of  front,  with  a  more 
guarded  movement  upon  the  enemy,  and  less  expen 
diture  of  war  material.  You  do  not  find  them 
so  much  in  the  noisy  front  of  battle,  as  where  the 
wounded  are  left  on  the  field  or  gathered  in  tent  and 
hospital." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  I  asked,  "  that  there  is  another 
movement,  parallel  to  this  one  which  is  attracting  so 
much  attention,  now  going  on  in  our  city  ?" 

"  Yes ;  wholly  independent,  yet  in  complete  har 
mony  therewith.     Two  sets  of  reapers  are  in  the 
same  field ;  but  with  one  there  are  better  facilities 
18 


282 


SAVED 


for  gleaning  and  garnering  than  with  the  other. 
Women  draw  more  closely  to  the  individual  than 
men ;  have  more  pity,  and  sympathy,  and  faith  in 
humanity  ;  more  practical  trust  in  God,  and  a  more 
absolute  belief  in  the  power  and  efficacy  of  prayer. 
There  is  a  marked  contrast  between  their  meetings 
and  the  vast  assemblages  you  have  attended.  The 
sphere  is  quieter,  and  the  services  held  closer  to  the 
order  of  religious  worship.  There  are  fewer  spec 
tators,  and,  I  think,  a  more  complete  singleness  of 
purpose  with  those  who  are  giving  themselves  to  the 
work.  What  we,  as  men,  are  doing,  is  extra  to  our 
common  life-work.  The  largest  part  of  our  time 
and  thought  is  devoted  to  business  or  professional 
duties ;  and  we  can  give  only  our  odds  and  ends  of 
leisure  to  extra  public  service  and  the  duties  of  chari*- 
ty.  It  is  different  with  many  of  the  women  who 
are  taking  the  lead  in  this  Gospel  temperance  work. 
Heart  and  mind  are  absorbed  in  it.  It  is  almost  as 
much  their  daily  thought  and  care  as  business  is  to 
the  merchant,  or  the  interests  of  his  clients  to  the 
lawyer.  We  can,  by  single  strong  efforts,  move  the 
masses  in  this  or  that  direction  ;  can  influence  and 
direct  public  sentiment,  and  even  set  great  tidal 
waves  of  reform  in  motion ;  but  for  the  gathering  of 
results,  we  have  little  time,  and,  it  may  be,  little  in 
clination  ;  and  results  are  too  often  left  to  take  care 
of  themselves." 

We  talked  until  we  came  in  front  of   a  small 
church  in  a  thickly  populated  part  of  the  town,  when 


AS  BY  FIRE.  283 

Granger  paused  with  the  words,  "  In  here,"  and  we 
passed  through  a  small  vestibule  to  a  room  capable 
of  holding  from  two  to  three  hundred  persons. 
Nearly  every  seat  was  occupied.  We  were  conducted 
to  chairs  set  in  the  space  fronting  the  reading-desk, 
and  on  being  seated  I  had  an  opportunity  to  look  at 
the  audience,  which  was  composed  of  men  and  wo 
men  ;  the  men  largely  outnumbering  the  women.  It 
took  but  a  glance  to  tell  who  and  from  whence  most 
of  these  men  were.  Lives  of  sin  and  suffering ;  of 
degradation  and  crime ;  of  abused  and  wasted  man 
hood  had  left  their  disfiguring  tokens  on  nearly 
every  countenance  before  me,  Half  a  dozen  women 
occupied  the  small  platform,  on  which  the  reading- 
desk  stood.  They  were  singing — 

"  Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul, 
Let  me  to  Thy  bosom  fly," 

as  we  entered,  most  of  the  congregation  taking  part. 
My  eyes  ran  over  the  strange  assembly,  looking 
from,  face  to  face,  and  trying  to  read  each  varied 
expression.  With  scarcely  an  exception,  you  saw  a 
deep,  and,  in  some  cases,  a  most  pathetic  earnestness. 
At  the  close  of  the  hymn,  one  of  the  women  arose, 
and  said,  in  an  easy,  familiar  way,  but  with  a  tender, 
penetrating  solemnity  in  her  voice :  "And  with  such 
a  refuge,  how  safe !  Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul.  The 
love  of  Jesus !  Of  the  all  compassionate  and  the 
all-powerful.  Think  of  it !  Come  to  this  Saviour. 
His  arms  are  open  to  receive  you.  Comfort,  support, 


284 

defense;  all  these  shall  be  yours.  Under  the  shadow 
of  His  wing  you  shall  dwell  in  safety." 

There  was  a  deep  hush  in  the  assembly  ;  a  bend 
ing  forward  to  hearken,  and  a  profound  solemnity 
on  most  of  the  faces.  You  saw  eyes  grow  wet,  and 
lips  move  in  silent  prayer. 

"And  now,"  said  the  gentle  speaker,  after  a  pause, 
"  we  want  to  hear  from  as  many  of  you  as  can  bear 
testimony  to  the  saving  power  of  Him  who  has  taken 
your  feet  out  of  the  miry  clay  and  set  them  upon  a 
rock.  Speak  with  brevity  that  we  may  have  a 
multitude  of  witnesses." 

She  sat  down  and  a  man,  whose  face  had  been 
holding  my  eyes  for  some  moments,  arose  from  his 
seat.  What  could  one  with  such  a  countenance  have 
to  say  about  the  saving  power  of  Christ,  I  thought. 
His  voice  trembled  a  little  as  he  began : 

"  He  has  taken  my  feet  out  of  the  pit  and  set 
them  on  solid  ground ;  blessed  be  His  name.  I've 
been  a  dreadful  hard  drinker.  Until  six  weeks  ago, 
I  don't  think  I  had  drawn  a  sober  breath  for  ten 
years.  My  wife  left  me  in  despair  more  than  throe 
years  ago;  and  then  I  didn't  care  for  anything. 
When  I  heard  about  the  Murphy  meetings  and  what 
wonderful  things  were  being  done,  I  thought  I'd  go 
and  see  what  it  meant.  Somehow,  with  the  singing, 
and  the  way  Mr.  Murphy  talked,  I  got  all  broken 
up,  and  when  he  told  us  that  if  we'd  take  the  pledge 
and  trust  in  God  to  help  us  keep  it,  we  could  stand 
just  as  well  as  he  had  stood,  I  said,  I'll  try.  And  I 


A8  BY  FIRE.  285 

did  try,  and,  blessed  be  God !  I've  been  able  to  keep 
my  pledge.  I  don't  know  how  it  might  have  been 
if  I  hadn't  come  to  these  meetings.  I've  found  work, 
and  I'm  trying  to  make  another  home.  It  isn't 
much  of  a  home  as  yet — only  a  single  room — but 
my  wife  is  so  happy.  And  we've  got  something  in 
that  home  we  never  had  before.  Shall  I  tell  you 
what  it  is  ?" 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  then  in  a  lower  voice 
said :  "  Our  Saviour." 

As  he  sat  down,  the  leader  of  the  music  touched 
the  organ  keys,  and  a  single  verse  from  a  well- 
known  hymn  was  sung : 

"  Saviour,  like  a  shepherd  lead  us, 

M  uch  we  need  Thy  tender  care ; 
In  Thy  pleasant  pastures  feed  us, 
For  our  use  Thy  folds  prepare  ; 

Blessed  Jesus  ! 
Thou  hast  bought  us,  Thine  we  are.'* 

As  the  singing  ceased,  I  heard  the  voice  of  a 
woman  in  the  audience,  and  turned  in  the  direction 
from  which  it  carne.  I  saw  a  worn  and  sallow  face, 
and  a  slender  form,  plainly  but  cleanly  attired. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you,"  said  the  speaker,  "  that  I've 
got  my  husband  again,  after  having  lost  him  because 
of  drink  for  years  and  years.  And  this  time  I'm 
going  to  keep  him,  for  God  has  converted  his  soul. 
Oh,  bless  the  Lord !  Bless  the  Lord !"  her  voice 
rising  into  almost  a  passionate  outburst. 

"  Yes,  bless  the  Lord,  my  sister,"  responded  the 
lady  who  had  direction  of  the  meeting.  "  For 


'JS6  SAVED 

when  He  finds  the  lost  ones,  He  can  keep  their 
feet  from  wandering  any  more." 

Another  hymn,  and  then  another  short  speech. 
And  so  for  an  hour  the  speaking  and  the  singing 
went  on,  the  interest  not  flagging  for  a  moment. 
Men  told  of  the  awful  slavery  from  which  they  had 
escaped  through  the  power  of  God,  and  of  the  new 
strength  which  had  come  to  them  in  answer  to 
prayer,  with  a  positiveness  that  had  in  it  an  ele 
ment  of  conviction  for  the  intently  listening  hearers. 
Some  had  been  standing  safe  in  the  midst  of  tempta 
tion  for  only  a  few  days,  some  for  weeks,  and  some 
for  months.  Many  had  already  united  themselves 
with  one  or  another  religious  society,  and  were 
receiving  that  protection  and  strength  which  comes 
from  Christian  fellowship. 

"A  good  Christian  brother  has  been  holding  on 
to  me  ever  since  I  took  the  pledge,"  said  one. 
"May  God  rewnrd  him!  If  he  hadn't  held  so 
tightly,  I  don't  know  what  might  have  happened ; 
I  was  so  miserable  and  helpless.  But  I'm  getting 
stronger  and  stronger,  and  now  I'm  trying  to  help 
the  weak  ones." 

Said  another :  "  Thank  God  for  these  good  Chris 
tian  women.  One  of  them  found  me  not  long  ago 
in  the  hands  of  a  policeman.  I'd  been  drinking  in 
a  saloon,  and  got  into  a  quarrel  with  the  bar 
keeper,  who  called  an  officer.  Just  as  I  was  dragged 
out  upon  the  pavement,  a  woman  came  by,  and  she 
stopped  and  said  to  the  policeman :  '  What's  the 


AS  BY  FIEE.  287 

matter?  What's  this  man  been  doing?'  She 
spoke  so  gently,  and  yet  with  something  so  like 
authority  in  her  voice,  that  he  let  go  of  my  collar. 
*  Drunk  and  quarrelsome,'  he  answered,  gruffly. 
'Oh,  I  see,'  she  returned.  'They've  made  him 
crazy  with  drink,  and  then  turned  him  over  to 
you.'  '  Something  of  that  sort,'  said  the  policeman, 
speaking  more  respectfully.  Then  she  said,  *  Sup 
pose  you  let  me  have  this  case.  I  shouldn't  won 
der  if  I  could  do  a  great  deal  better  with  it  than 
you  can.'  The  officer  stood  for  a  little  while  look 
ing  puzzled ;  and  I  was  puzzled,  too,  for  the  liquor 
was  beginning  to  go  out  of  my  head.  '  What  will 
you  do  with  him  ?'  he  asked.  '  Try  to  make  a  sober 
man  out  of  him.'  At  this  he  laughed,  and  said,  'If 
you  can  make  a  sober  man  out  of  Jack  Brady,  all 
right.  Go  ahead  and  try.  It'll  be  the  hardest  job 
you  ever  took.'  But  she  didn't  find  it  so.  I  don't 
know  how  it  was,  but  the  very  minute  I  heard  her 
say  that,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  stop  drinking. 
The  policeman  went  on,  and  she  stood  and  talked 
to  me  for  a  good  while,  and  told  me  about  these 
meetings,  and  how  easy  it  would  be  to  lead  a  better 
life  if  I  would  come  and  try  to  get  help  from  above. 
I'd  never  been  talked  to  like  that  before.  It  seemed 
so  strange  to  have  anybody  care  for  me,  and  to  seem 
so  anxious  about  me.  '  Please  God,  I'll  come,'  said 
I.  And  I  did  come.  It  seemed  as  if  I  couldn't  wait 
for  the  hour  next  day.  And  when  I  entered  that 
door,  there  stood  the  lady,  just  where  she's  standing 


288  SAVED 

now,  by  the  reading-desk.  She  was  speaking,  ana 
as  her  voice  fell  on  my  ears  like  the  voice  of  an  old 
friend,  my  heart  began  to  beat  heavy,  and  I  got  all 
into  a  tremble.  Would  she  know  me  ?  I  saw  her 
eyes  go  searching  about  the  room  as  she  talked,  but 
if  she  was  looking  for  me  she  didn't  make  me  out. 
I  went  up  as  close  to  the  desk  as  I  could  get,  and 
sat  there  while  the  singing  and  talking  and  praying 
went  on.  Not  for  a  minute  did  I  take  my  eyes 
away  from  her.  All  at  once  as  she  looked  at  me 
hard  I  saw  her  face  brighten  up,  and  I  knew  that 
she  had  seen  me.  In  a  little  while  she  came  and 
sat  down  by  my  side  and  took  my  hand,  and  said, 
just  for  my  ear  alone,  '  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  here, 
Mr.  Brady.'  You  see  she  hadn't  forgotten  my 
name.  *  I've  been  looking  for  you  ever  since  the 
meeting  opened.  You're  going  to  sign  the  pledge, 
of  course ;  and,  better  still,  give  your  heart  to  Jesus. 
And  then  what  a  happy  man  you  will  be.'  And  I 
did  sign  the  pledge,  and  I  did  give  my  heart  to  Jesus. 
And  I'm  one  of  the  happiest  men  in  this  room  to 
day." 

As  the  meeting  drew  to  a  close,  requests  for  pray  of 
were  sent  up  in  writing,  or  asked  for  verbally.  A 
mother  asked  for  prayers  for  an  intemperate  son  ;  a 
wife  for  an  intemperate  husband ;  a  sister  for  two 
brothers  who  were  in  great  danger  of  becoming 
drunkards ;  a  reformed  man  that  he  might  find  his 
wife  and  children,  from  whom  he  had  not  heard  for 
two  years ;  the  wife  of  a  tavern-keeper,  that  her 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

husband  might  be  convicted  of  sin,  and  led  to 
abandon  his  dreadful  business ;  for  a  sick  wife  with 
a  drunken  husband ;  for  a  daughter  whose  father 
was  intemperate. 

While  these  requests  were  being  made,  a  young 
woman — she  did  not  look  over  twenty-six  or  seven 
years  of  age — arose  and  said  :  "  My  heart  is  so  full, 
Christian  friends,  that  I  can't  keep  silent.  I  want 
to  tell  what  great  things  prayer  can  do.  I've  got  a 
husband  and  two  little  children.  My  husband  took 
to  drinking,  and  it  'most  killed  me.  He  was  so  good 
and  kind  before ;  but  now  he  got  cross  and  ugly, 
and  wouldn't  bear  a  word  from  me.  It  was  getting 
worse  and  worse.  He'd  stay  out  late  at  night  and 
come  home  so  much  in  liquor  that  he  didn't  know 
anything.  One  day  I  said  to  his  mother,  '  If  Tom 
keeps  on  in  this  way,  I  shall  have  to  leave  him  and 
go  home  to  father.'  And  then  she  cried,  and  said, 
'  Don't  do  that,  Mary.  He'll  go  all  to  ruin  if  you 
do.'  And  we  both  sat  and  cried  for  ever  so  long. 
While  we  were  crying,  a  neighbor  came  in  ;  and  she 
said,  '  Why  don't  you  go  round  to  the  women's  tem 
perance  meeting  and  ask  them  to  pray  for  him  ?'  I 
didn't  see  what  good  that  was  going  to  do ;  but  she 
talked  so  much  about  it  that  I  said  to  myself,  '  It 
can't  do  .any  harm,  that's  sure.'  So  I  put  on  my 
things  and  came  round  here,  and  Tom's  mother  came 
with  me.  I  wrote  on  a  piece  of  paper,  '  Prayers 
wanted  for  a  young  husband  and  father  who  is  being 
ruined  by  drink,'  and  sent  it  up.  And  when,  sin- 


290 

gling  this  out  from  all  the  rest,  Mrs.  W said, 

in  her  prayer,  'This  young  husband  and  father, 
Lord,  who  is  being  ruined  by  drink,  oh,  hear  the 
pitiful  cry  of  his  wife,  and  the  cry  that  we  are  all 
sending  up  to  Thee  now.  Let  Thy  Spirit  prevail 
with  him.  Quicken  in  him  the  desire  for  a  better 
life ;  turn  him  from  the  evil  of  his  ways/ — it  seemed 
as  if  the  Lord  had  come  down  into  this  room,  and 
as  if  I  had  got  right  hold  of  Him.  After  the  meet 
ing  was  over  we  went  home,  and  my  husband's 
mother  waited  until  he  came  in  to  supper.  He  didn't 
have  much  to  say ;  looked  kind  of  troubled  about 
something,  I  thought.  He  usually  went  out  directly 
after  supper ;  but  this  time  he  sat  for,  maybe,  half  an 
hour,  reading  a  newspaper.  Then  he  took  up  his 
hat  and  went  away.  '  Don't  stay  out  late,  Tom, 
please,'  said  I,  as  pleasantly  as  I  could  speak.  But 
he  didn't  answer  me  a  word.  His  mother  had  gone 
home  by  this  time,  and  I  was  alone  with  my  two 
little  children,  and  they  were  both  asleep.  I  had  a 
strange  feeling,  as  if  something  was  going  to  happen. 
It  might  be  bad  or  it  might  be  good — I  couldn't  tell. 
My  heart  was  trembling  and  starting.  I  couldn't 
sew ;  I  couldn't  do  anything,  but  kept  going  about, 
up  and  down-stairs,  so  restless  and  troubled  that  I 
didn't  know  what  to  do  with  myself.  At  last  I  got 
down  on  my  knees  and  began  to  pray  for  my  hus 
band.  And  then  it  seemed  as  if  the  blessed  Lord 
and  Saviour  had  come  into  my  little  room ;  and  I 
talked  to  Him  as  a  friend,  and  pleaded  for  my  hus- 


AS  fi  Y  FIR  F.  291 

band,  and  begged  Him  to  save  bim  from  the  dread 
ful  appetite  that  was  ruining  him  soul  and  body.  I 
felt  better  after  that.  But  I  couldn't  settle  down  Co 
doing  anything.  Then  I  got  the  Bible  and  rea/^ 
two  or  three  chapters.  Tired  at  last,  I  laid  my  fao; 
down  upon  the  open  book  and  fell  asleep.  I  had  t 
sweet  dream,  but  a  sweeter  waking  up,  for  my  hus-. 
band's  arms  were  around  me,  and  I  heard  his  voice 
saying,  '  Mary,  dear !'  in  the  old,  loving  way.  '  Oh, 
what  is  it,  Tom  ?'  I  cried  out,  as  I  started  up.  And 
then  he  kissed  me,  and  said,  '  It's  going  to  be  all 
right  again,  Mary.  I've  been  down  to  the  Murphy 
meeting,  and  signed  the  pledge,  and,  God  helping 
me,  I'm  going  to  keep  it.'  And  he  has  kept  it  so 
far ;  and  what's  better,  he's  given  his  heart  to  Christ, 
and  we've  both  joined  the  church.  Oh,  I'm  so 
happy !" 

My  eyes  were  full  of  tears  when  this  happy  young 
wife  sat  down. 

Then  the  lady  to  whom  she  had  referred,  made  a 
few  impressive  comments  on  the  incident  just  related, 
adding  two  or  three  others  as  strikingly  illustrative 
of  the  value  of  prayer.  One  of  these  was  quite  re 
markable,  and  I  was  not  able  to  trace,  except  remotely, 
the  relation  between  cause  and  effect.  She  said : 
"At  one  of  the  Central  Coffee-Room  Thursday 
evening  meetings  at  which  I  was  present,  a  gentle 
man  arose  and  said,  '  I  want  to  ask  your  prayers  for 
the  drunken  son  of  a  poor  old  mother.  I  don't 
know  who  he  is — not  even  his  name,  nor  where  he 


292  s* VED 

lives.  To-night,  as  I  was  coming  here,  I  saw  an  old 
woman  standing  on  a  corner,  and  she  seemed  to  be 
in  trouble.  I  stopped  and  asked  what  was  the  mat 
ter,  and  she  said,  "Oh,  dear  sir,  I'm  in  great  distress. 
I'm  old  and  poor,  and  have  nothing  to  depend  on 
but  one  son,  and  he's  taken  to  bad  habits,  and  spends 
nearly  everything  he  earns  in  drink ;  and  if  I  say  a 
word  to  him,  he  goes  on  dreadfully.  He  hasn't 
been  home  all  day ;  and  there's  nothing  in  the  house 
to  eat,  and  I've  been  going  all  about  trying  to  find 
him."  And  the  poor  old  mother  wrung  her  hands 
and  moaned  so  piteously  that  it  made  my  heart  ache. 
I  could  do  nothing  for  her  but  give  her  a  little 
money  and  tell  her  to  go  home  and  pray  for  her  son. 
And  now  I  ask  the  prayers  of  all  here  to-night  for 
the  son  of  this  aged  mother.'  The  case  was  very 
blind.  We  did  not  know  even  the  man's  name,  nor 
the  name  of  his  mother ;  how  then  were  we  to  pre 
sent  him  to  God?  But  it  was  not  for  us  to  put 
limits  to  the  Divine  power  of  saving.  So  we  laid 
this  unknown  mother's  sorrow,  and  this  unknown 
man's  sin  and  desolation  before  the  Lord  and  left 
the  case  with  Him.  Well,  on  the  next  Thursday 
evening  the  gentleman  arose  again,  and  said,  'I  have 
good  news  from  the  man  whom  I  asked  you  to  pray 
for  at  our  last  meeting.  He  has  been  saved.'  What 
a  thrill  of  joy  went  through  me !  '  On  the  very 
evening  afterwards  I  met  his  old  mother  again.  It 
seemed  almost  as  if  she  had  dropped  down  in  the 
street  before  me ;  and  she  told  me  this  glad  story : 


AS  BY  FIRE.  293 

"  After  I  saw  you,"  she  said,  "  I  went  home  and 
waited  for  my  son,  crying  and  praying,  and  in  great 
distress  of  mind.  It  was  aJbout  half-past  ten  o'clock 
when  I  heard  him  come  in — he  never  got  home 
much  before  twelve — and  it  gave  me  a  start.  Up 
stairs  he  came;  not  stumbling  nor  unsteady,  but 
every  step  distinct  and  firm.  When  he  opened  the 
door,  I  saw  something  strange  in  his  face.  I  didn't 
know  what  it  meant.  Such  a  light  in  his  eyes,  and 
such  a  soft,  gentle  look  about  his  mouth.  'O 
John!'  I  cried  out,  almost  catching  my  breath.  Then 
he  said,  '  Mother,  I've  been  to  one  of  them  great 
meetings,  and  I've  signed  the  pledge,  and  if  God 
will  only  give  me  the  strength  to  keep  it,  I'll  live 
and  die  a  sober  man.'  Oh,  dear,  how  my  poor  old 
heart  did  leap  for  joy.  Then  I  got  him  round  the 
neck,  and  I  said,  '  Let  us  kneel  right  down  here, 
John,  and  pray  that  God  will  give  you.  all  the 
strength  you  want.'  And  down  we  knelt;  and  such 
a  prayer-meeting  as  we  had  together ;  it  lasted  till 
almost  morning."  ; 

"  With  such  instances  of  the  power  of  prayer  for 
our  encouragement,"  continued  the  speaker,  "  and  I 
could  give  many  more  that  have  come  under  my 
own  observation  quite  as  remarkable,  let  us  not 
hesitate  in  our  petitions,  but  come  confidently  to 
God.  Among  the  written  requests  for  prayer  which 
I  now  hold  in  my  hand,  is  one  that  has  moved  me 
deeply.  Three  young  wives  ask  your  prayers  for 
their  intemperate  husbands.  Three  young  wives." 


294 

Her  voice  falling  on  the  words  in  low,  pitying 
cadences.  "Think  of  it!  Three  young  wives; 
happy  brides  a  little  while  ago,  and  with  the  sweet 
grace  and  charm  of  girlhood  still  about  them ! 
What  an  outlook  upon  life  for  these  dear  young 
souls.  They  have  met  together,  and  each  has  told 
to  the  others  her  sorrow  and  her  fear.  They  have 
seen  their  young  husbands  drifting,  and  drifting, 
and  drifting  away,  every  effort  to  hold  them  back 
in  vain.  They  will  be  lost  if  some  influence,  greater 
than  it  is  their  power  to  exercise,  is  not  brought 
to  bear  upon  them.  And  now  they  ask  our  prayers. 
Let  us  offer  them  in  loving  faith  ;  and  not  for  these 
only,  but  for  all  the  special  cases  which  have  been 
brought  to  us  this  day." 

I  had  heard  at  one  of  the  revival  meetings,  a 
year  or  two  before,  a  long  list  of  requests  for  prayer 
read  off  very  much  in  the  routine  way  of  an  entry 
clerk  reading  off  the  items  of  an  invoice ;  and  then 
the  prayers  were  offered  up  in  a  kind  of  wholesale 
fashion  that  struck  me  as  almost  irreverent  and 
quite  useless. 

But  the  prayer  that  I  now  heard  affected  me  very 
differently.  There  was  in  it  nothing  of  routine  or 

dead  formality.  Mrs.  W ,  to  whom  the  duty 

of  offering  these  requests  to  God  had  been  assigned, 
felt,  it  was  plain,  the  troubled  heart-beat  of  those 
whom  she  represented  in  her  petitions.  Not  a  sin 
gle  request,  written  or  verbal,  was  forgotten.  Each, 
in  turn,  was  offered  before  the  Lord,  and  with  such 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  295 

feeling  and  earnestness  and  individuality  of  need 
and  condition,  that  I  was  not  only  surprised  at  the 
singular  clearness  with  which  she  had  apprehended 
each  case,  but  deeply  mored  by  the  sphere  of  her 
trusting  and  reverent  piety. 

At  the  close  of  this  prayer  and  the  singing  that 
followed,  the  pledge  was  offered  to  those  who  had 
not  signed,  and  all  who  felt  the  need  of  spiritual 
counsel  and  comfort  were  invited  to  go  into  the 
inquiry-room. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

COXQITKRFNG  AND  TO  CONQUER. 

"  "1    TOW  long  has  this  been  going  on  ?"  I  asked 

J — L  of  Mr.  Granger  us  we  walked  away. 

"  For  months,"  he  replied. 

"Are  the  meetings  held  daily  ?" 

"Yes." 

"And  always  crowded  like  this  ?" 

"Always." 

"And  as  full  of  interest?" 

"  The  interest  never  flags.  You  see  how  entirely 
in  earnest  these  women  are,  and  how  completely 
they  have  thrown  themselves  into  this  work,  which 
has  still  another  side." 

"Another  side?" 

"  Yes.  Their  faith  in  prayer  is  unbounded.  Some 
of  them  take  the  Bible  promises  so  literally  that  they 
verily  believe  a  mountain  couid  be  removed  and  cast 
into  the  sea  if  prayer  and  faith  were  strong  enough. 
'Spiritual  forces  arc  higher  and  more  subtle  than 
natural  forces,  and  spiritual  laws  above  and  superior 
to  natural  laws,'  I  once  heard  one  of  them  say,  while 
speaking  of  the  power  of  prayer,  '  and  can  suspend 
or  set  them  aside  altogether,  as  in  miracles ;  and  it 
is  because  our  faith  is  so  weak,  and  we  ask  so  often 

amiss,  asking  selfishly,  that  marvels  are  not  wrought 
296 


A3  BY  FIRE.  297 

by  prayer  which  would  astonish  the  world.'  She 
held  that  if  the  Christian  people  of  this  city  would 
unite  in  one  strong  and  persistent  prayer  to  God, 
He  would  set  agencies  in  motion  that  would  close 
every  liquor-saloon  in  our  midst  and  cause  wicked 
ness  to  cease.  But  there  are  those  among  them 
who  keep  nearer  to  the  earth,  and  who  have  faith  in 
other  saving  means  beside  that  of  prayer.  Who 
believe  in  feeding  the  hungry,  and  clothing  the 
naked,  and  building  up  and  sustaining  the  natural 
degree  of  life,  so  that  the  spiritual  degree  which  has 
just  been  vivified  with  grace  from  above  may  have 
an  orderly  foundation  upon  which  to  rest.  The 
other  side  of  this  work  to  which  I  have  referred, 
has  relation  to  the  lower  degree  of  life  which  rests 
on  the  earth,  and  which  must  be  in  some  degree  of 
health  and  order  before  it  is  possible  for  spiritual  life 
to  have  sustenance  and  growth." 

"  Women  have  a  very  practical  side,  and  are  quick 
in  their  perception  of  wants  and  means,"  I  remarked. 

"  Yes ;  and  what  is  more,  are  quick  to  act,  When 
they  see  that  a  thing  ought  to  be  done,  they  go  about 
doing  it ;  and  often  while  we  are  thinking  and  de 
bating,  their  will  has  found  the  way.  You  remem 
ber  how  it  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  war.  Soldiers 
from  the  North  who  were  landed  from  the  ferry 
boats  at  the  foot  of  Washington  Avenue  to  await 
farther  transportation,  were  found  hungry  and  ex 
hausted,  sitting  on  curb-stones  and  door-steps,  or 
lying  asleep  on  the  pavement,  no  provision  having 
19 


298 

been  made  for  feeding  them  on  the  way.  What 
happened  ?  While  the  men  stood  looking  on,  and 
blaming  the  Government  for  neglect  of  provision  at 
this  point,  the  women  had  their  coffee-pots  on  the 
fire,  and  out  from  the  houses  all  along  the  line  of 
the  street  came  quickly  smoking  cups  and  pitchers, 
and  plates  of  bread  and  meat,  and  baskets  of  re 
freshing  fruit.  You  remember  how  this  thing  stirred 
your  heart  at  the  time,  and  the  hearts  of  all  to  whom 
it  was  told  the  land  over ;  and  how,  from  this  good 
beginning,  the  refreshment-saloons  were  started, 
giving  such  abundance  of  good  cheer  to  the  hun 
dreds  of  thousands  of  soldiers  who  afterwards  went 
through  our  city — the  new  recruits  pressing  forward 
to  the  battle-fields,  and  the  sick,  and  war- wasted,  and 
wounded  returning  home  to  recover  their  strength  or 
die." 

"Yes,  yes.  I  remember  well.  And  the  thought  of  it 
after  so  many  years  gives  my  heart  a  quicker  motion." 

"  Now,  as  then,  the  action  of  the  women  is  direct 
and  practical.  They  do  not  stand  looking  on  sor 
rowfully,  and  with  folded  hands,  waiting  for  organ 
ized  agencies.  There  are  no  strong  appeals  to  the 
public  for  help,  and  pauses  for  response.  But  in 
stead,  an  immediate  taking  hold  of  and  use  of  what 
ever  means  lie  close  at  hand.  Food  and  clothing 
are  gathered  and  distributed,  and  cases  of  destitution 
and  homelessness  met  and  ministered  to.  If  not  to 
the  full  extent  of  the  need,  yet  always  to  the  extent 
of  ability." 


AS  BY  FIR E. 


299 


"  That  is  well,"  said  I.  "  Prayers  are  good,  but 
they  never  take  the  place  of  potatoes.  A  hungry 
man  is  a  poor  subject  for  religion ;  and  a  dirty  and 
ragged  one  scarcely  any  better." 

"  Yes,  we  all  understand  this.  And  it  is  just  here 
that  the  great  work  of  reform  now  going  on  in  our 
city  finds  one  of  its  chief  impediments,"  Mr.  Gran 
ger  answered.  "  What  these  devoted  Christian 
women  are  doing  is  as  the  first  spontaneous  efforts 
which  were  made  by  loyal  women  to  feed  the  hungry 
soldiers  who  were  passing  through  our  city.  There 
was  a  great  blessing  in  it,  but  the  blessing  was  lim 
ited  for  lack  of  the  larger  supplies  and  more  perfect 
organization  which  came  afterwards.  So  now,  much 
is  being  done  with  imperfect  means;  but,  as  the 
work  goes  on,  and  its  results  become  more  widely 
known,  as  interest  deepens  and  sympathy  grows 
broader,  I  look  for  that  liberal  and  substantial  co 
operation  which  is  so  essential  to  its  success." 

"  The  ardor  that  now  attends  this  work,"  said  I, 
"  will  it  not  die  out  ?  There  is  a  waste  of  energy  in 
enthusiasm.  Of  all  excitements,  none  spend  them 
selves  more  quickly  than  religious  excitements,  be 
cause  they  are  so  intense.  The  more  permanent 
forces  are  quiet  and  almost  unobtrusive.  In  a  few 
weeks  the  heat  of  summer  will  be  upon  us,  and  Mr. 
Murphy  will  go  away.  There  will  be  no  more 
crowded  halls,  no  more  Sunday  morning  breakfasts, 
nor  stirring  appeals  and  moving  invitations.  What, 
then,  is  to  become  of  these  weak,  and  tempted,  and 


300 


SA  VED 


almost  friendless  ones  who  have  just  been  lifted  from 
the  slough  ?  It  troubles  me  to  think  of  it.  Is  the 
entire  cessation  of  these  religious  temperance  meet 
ings  for  two  or  three  months  a  well-considered 
thing  ?  To  retire  from  the  field  and  leave  the  enemy 
in  full  possession  after  such  a  series  of  victories  as 
you  have  had,  can  hardly  be  considered  good  gene 
ralship." 

"There  is  going  to  be  no  abandonment  of  the 
field,"  Granger  replied. 

"  I  understood  differently." 

"  Do  you  suppose,  for  a  single  moment,  that  th3 
women  who  are  in  this  battle  are  going  to  ground 
their  arms,  or  leave  the  field  for  any  cause  ?  *  How 
often  will  you  hold  your  meetings?'  I  asked  of 

Mrs.  W ;  and  she  answered  quietly,  "  Three 

hundred  and  sixty-five  days  in  the  year.'  'No 
intermission  this  summer?'  'None,'  she  replied. 
'  How  could  we  leave  these  hundreds  of  pre 
cious  souls,  just  rescued  from  the  slavery  of 
drunkenness,  some  of  them  without  homes,  or 
friends,  or  work,  in  the  very  midst  of  temptation  ? 
If  any  were  lost  through  our  neglect,  or  ease-seek 
ing,  would  not  the  stain  of  their  blood  be  upon  our 
garments?  Verily  do  we  believe  that  God  has 
called  us  to  this  work  of  saving  men  who,  because 
of  their  utter  degradation  through  intemperance, 
have  been  rejected  by  society  and  abandoned  by  the 
churches.  Helpless,  hopeless,  lost  but  for  'he 
agencies  now  raised  up  in  the  Divine  Providence 


'AS  BY  FIRE.  £01 

for  their  rescue,  shall  we,  to  whom  has  been  com 
mitted  the  great  responsibility  of  using  and  direct 
ing  these  agencies,  fold  our  hands  and  seek  for  rest 
and  recreation,  while  so  many  feet  are  only  on  the 
unsteady  margin  of  the  pit  out  of  which  they  have 
been  dragged,  and  so  many  hands  clinging  to  our 
garments,  lest,  if  their  hold  be  loosed,  they  fall 
again  ?  No,  no.  There  is  too  much  at  stake.' >: 

"  Brave,  true  women !"  I  responded,  with  ardor. 
"  In  all  works  of  Christian  charity  they  are  ever  in 
the  advance.  But  will  nothing  be  done  by  the  men 
whose  efforts  have  been  crowned  by  such  wonderful 
results  as  we  have  seen  ?  Will  they  wholly  aban 
don  the  work  until  their  summer  vacation  is  over  ? 
The  enemy  will  surely  be  diligent  in  his  work  of 
sowing  tares  in  their  field  while  they  rest." 

"  Only  this  great  public  demonstration  will  cease," 
Mr.  Granger  replied.  "  But  you  may  be  sure  of 
one  thing,  the  enemy  is  not  going  to  have  it  all  his 
own  way.  Faithful  guards,  and  sentinels,  and  re 
serve  forces  will  be  left,  and  he  will  be  held  to  the 
lines  back  upon  which  he  has  been  driven.  When 
the  fall  campaign  opens,  we  shall  have  a  more 
thorough  organization,  and  larger  means.  So  far, 
it  has  only  been  as  a  skirmish  along  the  lines  com 
pared  to  the  battles  that  must  be  fought.  We  do 
not  make  light  of  our  enemy.  He  is  not  to  be 
vanquished  by  a  single  fierce  onslaught,  nor  by  a 
single  desperate  battle.  All  hell  is  on  his  side; 
and  among  men  he  draws  his  myriads  of  recruits 


302  SA  VED 

from  the  young  and  the  old  who  have  inordinate 
desires  and  evil  passions,  and  selfish  ends  to  serve 
and  gratify.  Prejudice,  and  interest,  and  sensual 
desire  are  on  his  side.  He  is  intrenched  behind 
law,  usage,  fallacy  and  appetite.  His  friends  and 
emissaries  are  to  be  found  everywhere.  In  the 
halls  of  legislation,  in  courts  of  justice,  in  executive 
and  municipal  offices,  and,  sad  to  say,  often  even  in 
the  pulpit;  though,  thanks  to  the  growth  of  a 
higher  Christianity,  his  representatives  are  fast 
disappearing  from  the  sacred  desk." 

"  No  mean  enemy  with  which  to  engage  in  bat 
tle,"  said  I.  "As  to  the  ultimate  victory,  that  is 
very  far  off.  It  will  hardly  be  seen  in  your  day  or 
mine.  The  battle  with  hell  has  been  raging  for 
thousands  of  years,  and,  for  all  we  can  see,  will  con 
tinue  for  thousands  of  years  longer ;  and  if  all  hell 
is  on  the  side  of  the  liquor  traffic  and  intemperance, 
all  hell  must  be  conquered  before  they  will  cease. 
From  this  survey  of  the  field  the  outlook  is  not,  I 
confess,  a  very  hopeful  one." 

"It  is  as  full  of  hope  as  Christianity,"  returned 
Mr.  Granger.  "As  that  gains  in  strength  and  vital 
power,  temperance  will  have  an  equal  gain,  for  the 
very  life  of  Christianity  is  to  reject  evil  as  sin 
against  God.  An  intemperate  man  cannot  be  a 
Christian  man  in  any  true  sense,  because  he  is 
selfishly  indulging  a  depraved  appetite  which  not 
only  hurts  his  body,  but  weakens  and  degrades 
his  mind,  and  so  unfits  him  for  that  serrice 


AS  BY  FIRE.  3Q3 

of  God  and  his  neighbor  which  constitutes  re 
ligion." 

"  Taking  this  view,  intemperance  becomes  a  sin." 

"  Is  it  the  service  of  God  or  the  service  of  self?" 
Granger  asked.  "  The  holding  of  appetite  subject 
to  reason  and  the  laws  of  health,  or  the  giving  of 
lower  and  destructive  things  power  over  the  higher 
and  conservative?  Is  intemperance  a  good  or  an 
evil  ?  If  evil,  then  it  is  sin." 

"  What  of  moderate  drinking — the  temperate  use, 
as  it  is  called,  of  wine  and  other  stimulants  ?  Is 
there  sin  in  this  ?" 

"  Sin  is  the  voluntary  doing  of  anything  that  we 
know  to  be  hurtful  to  the  neighbor,  or  contrary  to 
the  law  of  God,"  Granger  replied. 

"  Then  I  may  drink  wine  or  beer  moderately,  and 
be  innocent.  There  is  no  law  of  God  which  says, 
'  Thou  shalt  not  drink  wine  or  beer.'  And  it  can 
not  hurt  my  neighbor.  If  any  one  is  hurt,  it  is 
myself  alone." 

"  Can  you  hurt  yourself  without  hurting  your 
neighbor  ?" 

"  Not  if  my  neighbor  have  any  claim  which  this 
hurting  of  myself  prevents  me  from  meeting." 

"Has  the  body  no  claim  on  the  hand  or  foot? 
Can  either  of  them  say,  I  may  hurt  myself  if  I 
choose — that  is  my  own  affair  ?  Depend  upon  it, 
Mr.  Lyon,  there  is  no  man  in  human  society,  no 
matter  how  weak,  or  obscure,  or  lowly  he  may  be, 
who  has  not  a  service  to  perform,  in  default  of 


304 


SAVED 


which  some  other  human  being — it  may  be  many 
human  beings — must  suffer.  Society  is  an  organic 
form,  in  which  we  all  have  our  places  and  func 
tions  ;  and  society  is  sick,  and  lame,  and  covered 
with  cancerous  sores,  only  because  it  has  so  many 
idle,  useless,  self-hurting  and  vicious  members  and 
organs  in  its  great  social  body.  Under  this  view, 
no  one  who  selfishly  indulges  in  any  practice  that 
diminishes  his  power  to  serve  those  who  have  claims 
upon  him,  can  bo  free  from  sin." 

"  I  see  your  broader  view  and  your  broader  confi 
dence,"  I  returned.  "  Whatever  is  gained  for  Chris 
tianity  is  gained  for  temperance." 

"Any  true  gain  to  Christianity  is  a  gain  to  tem 
perance  ;  for  to  be  a  Christian  man  means  to  be  a 
temperate  man,"  he  said.  "  There  is  no  such  a 
thing  as  a  tippling  Christian,  though  there  may  be 
a  tippling  professor ;  for  in  so  far  as  a  man  tipples, 
moderately  or  immoderately,  he  is  not  a  Christian — 
not  a  free  spiritual  man,  but  in  bondage  to  the 
flesh." 

"There  are  many  who  would  consider  such  a 
declaration  as  uncharitable  and  unwarranted,"  I  re 
marked. 

"Do  you?"  he  asked. 

"  My  ideal  of  a  Christian  man  is  very  high,"  I 
returned. 

"  You  would  not  have  him  a  slave  to  any  corpo 
real  lust  or  appetite  ?" 

"He  could  not  be;  for  in  so  far  as  one  is  not 


AS  BY  FIRE.  3Q5 

lifted  above  these,  he  is  not  a  Christian.  Religion 
can  scarcely  be  worth  anything  if  it  does  not  save  a 
man  from,  the  dominion  of  his  animal  nature.  It 
must  reform  and  regenerate  the  external  as  well  as 
the  internal.  His  very  feet,  the  lowest  and  most 
ultimate  things  of  his  life,  must  be  washed  and  made 
clean." 

"  I  could  not  express  my  own  views  more  exact 
ly,"  Granger  replied.  As  we  were  parting,  he  said: 
"A  few  friends  are  to  be  at  my  house  this  evening. 
I  wish  you  would  come  round." 

"  Who  are  they  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  Dr.  Gilbert,  from  New  York,  will  be  there." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  meet  him." 

"And  Judge  Arbuckle  and  his  wife,  from  Colum 
bus.  The  judge  and  I  were  in  the  same  class  at 
college,  and  warmly  attached  friends.  It  is  nearly 
twenty  years  since  our  last  meeting.  He  is  a  man 
of  fine  qualities,  both  as  to  head  and  heart,  with  de 
cided  opinions  and  considerable  force  of  character. 
You  will  enjoy  an  evening  in  his  company,  I  am 
sure ;  and  none  the  less,  I  think,  from  the  fact  that 
there  is  likely  to  be  an  earnest  encounter  between 
him  and  Dr.  Gilbert," 

"  Indeed !     On  what  subject  ?" 

"  The  judge,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  is  not  a  temper 
ance  man.  He  has  always  taken  stimulants,  and 
believes  their  moderate  employment  to  be  useful." 

"  Has-  he  ever  given  the  subject  a  careful  investi 
gation  ?" 


"  I  presume  not.  Law  and  politics  have  claimed 
his  closer  attention." 

"A  discussion  between  him  and  Dr.  Gilbert,  if  it 
should  happen  to  arise,  is  likely  to  be  a  warm  one." 

"  It  will  be  earnest,  but  fair  and  courteous,  for 
both  are  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Granger.  "  I  am 
glad  of  the  opportunity  to  bring  these  men  together, 
for  after  their  meeting,  my  old  friend  Arbuckle  will, 
I  think,  be  in  possession  of  facts  that  must  set  him 
thinking  in  a  new  direction.  As  for  himself,  I  do 
not  greatly  fear  the  serious  encroachments  of  appe 
tite  ;  for  he  is  an  exceptionally  well-balanced  man, 
with  a  cool,  clear  head,  and  finely-strung  nerves; 
and  is  known  for  his  moderation  and  conservative 
force  of  character.  But  his  example  and  influence 
cannot  fail  to  be  exceedingly  hurtful,  especially  with 
young  men." 

I  promised  to  make  one  of  his  guests  that  even 
ing,  and  we  parted. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

SOWING  GOOD  SEED. 

MR.  GRANGER'S  law  business,  which  had 
grown  rapidly,  was  already  giving  him  a 
handsome  income,  and  his  family  was  again  living 
in  a  style  of  comparative  elegance.  His  daughter 
Amy  had  developed  into  a  rarely  attractive  maiden, 
and  was  greatly  beloved  and  admired  in  the  circles 
where  she  moved.  Her  quiet  grace  and  dignity 
were  in  marked  contrast  with  the  free  and  jaunty 
manners  seen  in  too  many  of  our  young  girls,  and 
lifted  her  above  them  in  the  estimation  of  all  who 
held  the  sex  in  any  high  regard.  There  were  those 
who  sought  to  win  her  favor,  but  as  most  of  the 
young  men  whom  she  happened  to  meet  in  society, 
took  part  in  its  drinking  customs,  she  kept  herself 
on  guard  against  their  advances  and  held  them  at  a 
safe  distance.  The  shadows  which  intemperance 
had  thrown  over  her  early  life  rested  too  deeply  on 
her  spirits  to  be  wholly  removed  ;  and  the  pain  and 
humiliation  they  had  occasioned  were  things  that 
could  never  be  forgotten.  To  see  a  glass  of  wine  at 
the  lips  of  a  young  man  was  to  lift  between  himself 
and  her  an  impassable  barrier.  She  might  esteem 
him  as  a  friend ;  but  she  locked  the  door  of  her 
heart  against  him.  If,  as  happened  more  than  once, 

307 


308  SAVED 

a  warmer  sentiment  than  friendship  had  commenced 
forming,  she  smothered  it  out  with  a  quick  and  reso 
lute  hand  on  discovering  the  fatal  impediment. 

But  love  steals  in  by  unguarded  ways,  and  when 
once  within  the  citadel  of  the  heart,  holds  to  his 
advantage  and  makes  vigorous  resistance  should  an 
attempt  be  made  to  cast  him  out.  It  so  happened 
that  a  young  man  named  Pickering,  found  favor 
with  Amy,  and  that  almost  before  she  was  aware  of 
her  danger,  the  citadel  of  her  heart  had  been  taken. 
Handsome  in  person,  pure  in  life,  and  true  and 
manly  in  his  character,  Henry  Pickering  was  en 
tirely  worthy  of  the  love  which  she  was  not  able  to 
keep  from  revealing  itself  in  her  eyes. 

A  few  months  after  their  more  intimate  acquaint 
ance,  and  when  the  young  man's  attitude  towards 
Amy  left  but  little  doubt  as  to  his  feelings  and  in 
tentions,  they  met  at  an  evening  entertainment,  where 
liberal  refreshments  were  served.  A  sudden  chill 
and  suspense  fell  upon  the  maiden's  heart,  as,  with 
her  hand  on  Pickering's  arm,  she  began  moving 
towards  the  supper-room ;  for  the  clink  of  glasses 
and  popping  of  corks  could  already  be  heard.  She 
had  never  until  now  met  this  young  man  at  an 
evening  party ;  nor  had  anything  occurred  in  their 
intercourse  so  far  that  gave  her  any  intimation  of 
his  attitude  towards  the  too  prevalent  drinking 
usages  of  society.  In  all  her  intercourse  with  him, 
she  had  not  seen  the  smallest  indication  of  any  in 
dulgence  in  wine  or  intoxicating  drinks,  and  there 


"Thank  you;  no  wine  for  me,"  replied  Amy.— 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

had  come  to  be  with  her  a  tacit  and  fond  belief  that 

* 

he  was  one  of  those  who  kept  himself  entirely  free 
from  their  use. 

But  now  the  hour  of  trial  and  proof  had  come, 
and  as  they  entered  the  supper-room,  Amy's  breath 
ing  became  constricted,  and  her  heart  beat  with 
heavy,  almost  suffocating  throbs.  She  took  her 
place  a  little  back  from  the  table,  which  was  liber 
ally  supplied  with  glasses  and  bottles  of  wine,  and 
waited  for  her  attendant  to  bring  her  some  of  the 
refreshments  that  were  being  served.  This  was 
speedily  done.  As  Pickering  handed  her  the  plate 
which  he  had  filled,  he  said:  "Will  you  have  a 
glass  of  champagne,  or  some  sherry  ?" 

"  Thank  you ;  no  wine  for  me,"  replied  Amy, 
with  something  in  her  voice  that  caused  the  young 
man  to  look  at  her  a  little  curiously. 

"  You  would  not  have  me  drink  alone  ?"  he  said. 

"  I  would  not  have  you  drink  at  all,"  she  an 
swered,  a  low  thrill  of  feeling  in  her  otherwise 
steady  voice. 

Pickering's  eyes  rested  on  hers  for  a  moment  or 
two,  after  which  he  turned  from  her  slowly,  going 
to  the  table  and  filling  another  plate  with  salad  and 
oysters.  Then  he  came  back  to  his  place  by  her 
side ;  but,  as  they  stood  eating,  they  were  turned  a 
little  away  from  each  other.  The  young  man,  who 
had  been  a  resident  of  the  city  for  only  a  year  or 
two,  knew  nothing  at  this  time  of  Mr.  Granger's 
history. 


312 

It  soon  became  evident  to  Pickering  that  his 
companion  was  only  making  a  pretence  of  eating. 

"  Let  me  get  you  something  else,"  said  he.  "This 
isn't  to  your  taste.  What  shall  it  be?" 

But  she  replied,  as  she  handed  him  her  plate : 
"  Nothing  more,  I  thank  you." 

He  was  looking  full  into  her  face  now,  and  saw 
with  concern  that  the  brows  were  slightly  drawn, 
and  the  color  diminished. 

"Are  you  not  feeling  well  ?  The  room  is  very 
warm.  Let  me  bring  you  an  ice  ?" 

But  she  declined  anything  more,  and  promptly 
accepted  the  young  man's  invitation  to  return  to  the 
parlor,  where  they  took  a  seat  near  one  of  the  win 
dows  through  which  the  fresh,  cool  air  was  coming. 
The  whole  manner  of  the  girl,  as  well  as  the  ex 
pression  of  her  face,  had  changed ;  and  Pickering 
was  troubled  and  at  a  loss  to  know  the  meaning  of 
this  change  which  had  come  so  suddenly. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are  ill,"  lie  said. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  Amy  replied,  endeavoring  to  rally 
herself.  She  was  too  truthful  for  any  subterfuge. 

"  If  not  ill,  then  something  has  gone  wrong,  Miss 
Granger ;  and  I  am  concerned  to  know  what  it  is. 
Have  I  done  anything  to  disturb  or  offend  you  ?" 

Amy's  eyes,  which  had  been  on  his  face,  dropped 
to  the  floor,  and  she  made  no  answer.  The  young 
man's  thought  turned  back  hurriedly,  and  went  over 
the  brief  incidents  of  the  supper-room.  Was  it 
the  offer  of  a  glass  of  wine  ?  He  would  know,  and 


AS  BY  FIRE.  313 

at  once  put  the  question :  "  Do  you  object  to 
»vine?" 

"  It  is  a  dangerous  thing,"  she  replied. 

"  If  carried  to  excess ;  but  not  when  used  in 
moderation." 

"  If  never  used  in  moderation,  excess  is  impossi 
ble.  No  man  is  safe  but  he  who  lets  it  alone." 

She  spoke  in  a  low,  steady  voice,  in  which  the 
young  man  noticed  the  same  thrill  of  feeling  that 
\vas  in  it  when  she  answered  him  in  the  supper- 
room — "  I  would  not  have  you  drink  at  all." 

"  Why,  Miss  Granger I"  Pickering  exclaimed, 
trying  to  make  light  of  the  matter,  "  I  didn't  know 
before  that  you  were  a  little  temperance  enthusiast." 

"  It  is  not  with  me  a  matter  of  enthusiasm,"  she 
replied,  speaking  soberly,  "  but  of  deep  feeling  and 
settled  principle." 

"  Oh  !  I  was  not  aware  of  this  before.  If  I  had 
known  it,  I  should  not  have  committed  the  rudeness 
of  offering  you  wine ;  and  I  crave  pardon  for  my 
unfortunate  blunder.  You  are,  then,  an  advocate 
of  entire  abstinence." 

"  Where  the  use  of  a  useless  thing  is  attended 
with  such  awful  perils  as  attend  the  use  of  wine,  is 
not  he  the  wise  man  who  lets  it  alone  ?" 

"  I  will  not  say  no,  Miss  Granger.  But  your  pro 
position  is  very  sweeping.  I  might  take  issue  with 
you  on  the  word  'useless,'  but  am  in  no  way  inclined 
to  do  so  just  now.  Intemperance  is,  I  am  well 
aware,  the  great  curse  of  our  land." 


314  SA  VED 

"And  no  one  who  uses  intoxicating  drinks  of  any 
kind,  whether  moderately  or  not,  is  safe  from  this 
curse,"  said  Amy. 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  believe  that,  Miss  Granger. 
I  know  of  a  great  many  men  who  take  their  wine  or 
beer  every  day ;  but  I  do  not  think  them  in  any 
danger." 

"  Not  one  of  them  ?"  Her  voice  was  quiet,  but 
firm. 

"All  men  are  not  strong  alike,  nor  given  to 
moderation.  Some  are  inclined  to  excess  in  every 
thing.  There  is  always  danger  with  such." 

"And  danger  with  all  who  use  an  article  which 
invites  to  excess  the  very  moment  you  take  it.  It 
is  here,  Mr.  Pickering,  that  the  great  peril  lies. 
No  man  is  safe  who  admits  an  enemy  within  his 
fortress ;  and  alcohol  is  always  an  enemy." 

"  We  were  speaking  of  wine,  not  ardent  spirits," 
said  the  young  man. 

But  Miss  Granger  was  better  informed  than  he 
had  supposed. 

"  What  we  call  wine  is,  for  the  most  part,  only 
diluted,  drugged  and  flavored  alcohol.  Without 
the  character  and  quality  given  by  alcohol,  few 
would  care  to  drink  it.  It  takes  more  wine  than 
brandy  to  give  the  required  exhilaration;  that  is 
all." 

"  You  are  booked  on  this  subject,  Miss  Granger," 
said  Pickering,  his  brows  arching  slightly,  and  his 
voice  betraying  some  annoyance. 


AS  BY  FIRE.  315 

"  Where  such  grave  results  attend  the  use  of  an 
article,  is  it  not  well  to  examine  carefully  the  ground 
of  its  claim  upon  our  confidence  ?" 

There  was  no  excitement  in  Amy's  manner ;  yet 
it  did  not  escape  the  young  man's  observation  that, 
hidden  beneath  her  quiet  exterior,  was  a  great  deal 
of  repressed  feeling. 

"  But  the  novel  thing  to  me  is,  the  fact  that  a 
young  lady  like  yourself  should  be  posted  on  the 
subject  of  making  and  flavoring  wines,"  returned 
Pickering,  rising  into  an  air  of  banter.  "According 
to  your  view  of  the  case,  wine-drinking  is  only 
another  name  for  whisky-drinking." 

"  If,"  replied  Amy,  not  moved  from  her  serious 
attitude,  "  the  drink  we  call  wine  is  acceptable  as  a 
beverage  because  of  the  temporary  exhilaration  its 
alcohol  produces,  may  it  not  be  true  that  wine- 
drinking  is,  as  you  say,  another  name  for  whisky- 
drinking?" 

"  But  is  it,  as  you  allege,  Miss  Granger,  that  alco 
hol  gives  to  wine  its  chief  acceptable  quality  ?  I 
have  never  studied  the  subject;  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  you  must  be  in  some  degree  of  error." 

"  I  have  been  in  the  way  of  hearing  a  great  deal 
about  these  matters,  and  from  those  who  have  con 
ducted  their  investigations  with  great  care,"  said 
Amy,  "and  I  am  just  as  certain,  as  I  am  of  any 
other  declared  result  of  chemical  test  and  analysis, 
that  wine  contains  so  large  a  proportion  of  alcohol 
as  to  make  its  use  exceedingly  dangerous." 
20 


316 

"  What  proportion?"  asked  Pickering.  His  man 
ner  had  become  more  serious. 

"  I  have  heard  it  variously  stated,"  was  replied ; 
"the  percentage  running  from  seven  or  eight  to 
twenty-five  or  six." 

"  So  large  ?  I  wonder  how  much  alcohol  whisky 
or  brandy  contains  ?  You  are,  no  doubt,  informed 
as  to  that  also." 

"  From  forty  to  sixty  per  cent.,  I  am  told." 

"  Then,  if  I  drink  two  or  three  glasses  of  wine,  I 
get  about  as  much  alcohol  as  if  I  took  a  single  glass 
of  whisky  or  brandy  ?" 

"  The  danger  is  that  such  will  be  the  case." 

The  young  man  sat  with  a  thoughtful  air  for  a 
few  moments,  and  then  looking  up,  said,  with  a 
forced  levity  of  manner :  "  This  is  almost  comical, 
Miss  Granger." 

"  What  ?"  inquired  his  companion,  her  clear  eyes 
fixed  steadily  on  him. 

"  Free-and-easy  drinking  in  the  dining-room, 
and  a  temperance  lecture  in  the  parlor,"  he  replied, 
with  a  smile  breaking  into  his  handsome  counte 
nance. 

Ere  Amy  could  reply,  the  sound  of  laughing 
voices  was  heard  at  the  parlor  doors,  and  half  a 
dozen  girls  and  young  men  came  in  from  the  hall 
and  dining-room  in  gayer  spirits  than  when  they 
went  to  the  refreshment-tables  half  an  hour  before. 
As  one  and  another  returned  to  the  parlor,  it  was 
noticeable  that  a  change  had  come  over  their  spirits. 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

Many  of  the  young  girls  laughed  and  talked  in 
louder  tones,  and  were  freer  in  their  manners  than 
before ;  sometimes  to  a  degree  that  was  unmaidenly; 
while  the  conduct  of  some  of  the  young  men  was 
offensive  to  good  taste  for  its  rudeness  or  folly. 

"  When  the  wine  is  in  the  wit  is  out,"  said  Pick 
ering,  as,  rising,  he  offered  his  arm  to  Amy,  and 
they  moved  down  the  parlor  and  mingled  with  the 
company,  adding,  as  they  gained  tLe  lower  end  of 
the  room,  "  We  might  call  this  the  application  to 
your  little  sermon." 

"And  the  oftener  the  wine  goes  in  will  the  wit  go 
out,"  returned  his  companion,  speaking  for  his  ear 
alone,  "  until  in  the  end  it  may  co-ae  to  stay  out 
altogether." 

"  I  see  how  it  is,  Miss  Granger,"  snid  the  young 
man.  "  Your  thought  has  a  habit  of  pinning  to  the 
last  result  of  things." 

"  Is  not  that  wisest  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Doubtless.  But  the  surprise  with  me  is,  th&l  a 
young  lady  should  have  such  radical  views  on  the 
subject  of  drinking.  You  are  in  no  danger.  Nor 
are  these  young  ladies,  for  all  the  wine  they  gel 
at  parties.  A  little  lightness  in  the  head  as 
you  see  now,  then  a  night's  sleep,  and  all  will  be 


over." 


"  But  what  of  the  young  men,  their  companions?" 
asked  Amy. 

Pickering  gave  a  slight  shrug. 

"  Will  it  be  all  over,  as  you   say,  with  them  ? 


318  SAVED 

Will  the  appetite  be  no  stronger,  and  the  power  to 
resist  its  enticements  no  weaker  ?" 

"  I  was  speaking  of  the  young  ladies,  and  the 
danger  to  them,"  said  Pickering. 

"  Is  no  one  hurt  by  intemperance  but  the  men 
who  are  its  victims  ?"  inquired  the  girl.  "  If  I  am 
not  at  fault  in  my  observation,  there  are  to  be  found 
among  them  sons,  brothers,  husbands  and  fathers. 
Have  women  no  relation  to  these  men  ?  In  their 
wounding  is  there  no  hurt  to  the  sisters  and  daugh 
ters,  to  the  wives  and  the  mothers  ?" 

Fickering  felt  again  the  old  thrill  in  Amy's  calm 
but  earnest  voice. 

"  If  a  young  or  middle-aged  man  should  go  home 
from  here  to-night  the  worse  for  the  wine  he  has 
taken,"  she  added,  after  a  slight  pause,  "  will  there 
be  no  shame  or  sorrow  in  any  woman's  heart 
because  of  it  ?" 

His  ear  caught  the  sound  of  a  faint  sigh  which 
followed  the  closing  words  that  fell  from  his  com 
panion's  lips. 

"  We  won't  talk  about  this  any  more,"  he  said. 
"  The  theme  is  too  sombre  for  so  gay  and  festive  an 
occasion."  He  spoke  with  some  decision  of  manner. 
"And  now,"  he  added,  in  a  lighter  voice,  "let  us  try 
a  little  nonsense,  by  way  of  a  restorative." 

Amy  had  already  said  far  more  than  it  was  in 
her  thought  or  purpose  to  say  at  the  outset,  and  was 
very  willing  to  let  the  subject  drop,  even  though  far 
from  being  satisfied  with  the  young  man's  utterances 


AS  BY  FIRE.  319 

on  the  question,  which,  if  his  views  were  not  in 
accord  with  hers,  must  stand  as  an  impassable  barrier 
between  them.  One  thing  she  had  long  ago  settled 
in  her  mind,  and  that  was,  never  to  give  her  hand 
in  marriage  to  one  who  did  not  wholly  abstain  from 
the  use  of  alcohol  in  any  of  its  forms.  She  would 
take  no  risks  here.  The  danger,  in  her  view,  was 
too  appalling.  Her  answer  to  the  question :  "  How 
shall  I  be  saved  from  the  curse  of  strong  drink  ?" 
was  simple  and  direct.  She  would  neither  touch  it 
herself  in  any  of  its  covert  or  enticing  forms,  nor 
place  her  happiness  in  the  keeping  of  one  who  did. 

At  the  next  meeting  of  the  lovers,  for  so  we  must 
call  them,  though  the  young  man  had  not  yet  made 
a  formal  declaration  of  his  sentiments,  each  felt  that 
a  barrier  had  risen  between  them.  In  the  mean 
time,  Pickering  had,  in  response  to  some  inquiries 
about  Miss  Granger's  family,  learned  something  of 
its  painful  history,  and  of  the  sufferings  and  humil 
iation  through  which  the  girl  had  passed.  This 
made  clear  the  ground  of  her  prejudice  against  wine- 
drinking.  I  say  "  prejudice,"  using  the  word  as 
Pickering  used  it  at  the  time.  One  thing  was  plain 
to  him ;  he  saw  that  there  would  be  little  hope  of 
compromise  with  Amy  in  regard  to  the  use  of 
intoxicating  liquor  in  any  of  its  forms.  If  he  were 
not  prepared  to  stand  on  her  ground,  so  far  as  this 
question  was  concerned,  he  could  hardly  hope  to 
stand  with  her  at  all. 

It  was  this  conviction  in  the  mind  of  Pickering, 


320  SAVED 

and  the  doubts  and  uncertainties  as  to  his  real  atti 
tude  in  regard  to  the  use  of  alcoholic  drinks  which 
troubled  Miss  Granger,  that  raised  the  barrier  too 
plainly  visible  to  each  on  their  next  meeting.  Both 
studiously  avoided  any  reference  to  the  subject, 
though  it  was  never  absent  a  moment  from  the 
thought  of  either.  For  the  first  time  since  their 
more  intimate  acquaintance,  Amy  made  an  effort  to 
hold  herself  away,  and  even  to  close  her  heart  against 
him.  Her  reserve  was  so  apparent  that  it  hurt, 
then  piqued,  and  then  partially  offended  the  young 
man. 

"If  love,"  he  said  to  himself,  "has  no  deeper 
foundation  than  this,  is  it  worth  the  name  ?  Is  the 
taking  or  refusing  of  a  glass  of  wine  to  be  the  test 
of  its  quality  ?  The  love  that  I  want  is  a  love  that 
can  take  me  for  what  I  am,  and  trust  me  all  in  all ; 
and  if  she  cannot  do  this,  it  might  as  well  be  at  an 
end  between  us.  To  subject  myself  to  any  humiliating 
pledges  and  restrictions,  is  simply  impossible.  I 
hold  my  manly  freedom  too  high  for  that." 

An  evening  of  embarrassed  intercourse,  followed 
by  a  cold  parting,  was  the  result.  They  did  not 
meet  again  for  over  a  week,  during  which  time  Amy 
had  striven  hard,  but  vainly,  to  keep  the  thought  of 
Pickering  out  of  her  mind.  With  him  the  effort  to 
banish  her  image  had  been  no  more  successful ;  and 
as  day  after  day  went  by  without  seeing  her,  tender 
ness  grew  in  his  heart,  and  the  conviction  became 
etronger  and  stronger  that  for  him  life  would  be 


AS  BY  FIRE.  321 

nothing  if  not  shared  with  her.  Taking  all  things 
into  consideration,  he  was  beginning  to  feel  more 
sympathy  with  the  girl  in  her  extreme  views.  "  It 
is  but  natural,"  he  said,  "  for  a  burnt  child  to  dread 
the  fire.  All  that  she  has  seen  and  suffered  must 
be  set  down  in  her  favor." 

A  week  of  enforced  absence  was  all  that  Picker 
ing  could  endure ;  and  when  he  met  the  sweet  young 
girl  again  the  ardor  of  his  feelings  was  too  strong  for 
repression.  Love  looked  out  from  his  eyes  more 
tenderly  than  ever,  and  betrayed  itself  more  nearly 
on  his  tongue.  As  for  Amy,  the  gladness  of  heart 
which  she  could  not  repress  overflowed  and  revealed 
itself  in  her  blushing  face.  Before  they  parted  on 
that  evening,  the  lover  had  spoken,  and  the  maiden, 
while  not  consenting  in  words,  had  left  him  in  no 
doubt  as  to  the  real  state  of  her  feelings. 

Not  the  remotest  reference  was  made  to  the  subject 
which  had,  only  a  little  while  before,  come  in  be 
tween  them  with  its  warning  shadow  and  its  sepa 
rating  wall.  Was  it  forgotten  by  either  of  them  ? 
Not  so.  But  their  hearts  held  it  away  from  any 
present  influence.  Love's  fruition  was  for  the  mo 
ment  too  full  for  the  intrusion  of  any  remote  ques 
tions  of  prudence.  For  love's  sake  all  light  impedi 
ments  must  disappear  when  the  time  came  for  their 
consideration. 

So  they  felt;  but  with  each'the  feeling  of  confidence 
had  its  ground  in  the  fancied  concession  of  the  other. 
If  Henry  Pickering  really  loved  her,  would  he 


322  SAVED 

hesitate  in  a  matter  which  she  held  to  be  of  such 
vital  moment  ?  So  the  maiden  thought,  and  took 
the  sweet  assurance  to  her  heart.  "  Amy  loves  me 
too  well  to  let  a  mere  prejudice  or  fancy  stand  be 
tween  us,"  said  the  young  man,  confidently,  to  him 
self. 

But  they  erred  in  their  conclusions.  When  the 
young  man  pressed  a  closer  suit,  Amy  referred  him 
to  her  father,  and  Pickering  found  that  there  would 
be  no  consent  with  either  unless  the  question  of  his 
attitude  to  the  drinking  customs  of  society  was 
clearly  settled. 

"  Neither  myself  nor  my  daughter,"  said  Mr. 
Granger,  "  can  afford  to  run  so  great  a  risk  as  is 
here  involved.  For  myself,  I  would  rather  see  my 
child  with  the  angels."  He  betrayed  considerable 
emotion. 

"  I  must  infer  from  all  this,"  said  Pickering,  un 
able  entirely  to  conceal  his  disappointment  and 
irritation,  "  that  you  think  me  in  special  danger." 

"  No ;  only  in  the  danger  that  comes  to  all  who 
walk  in  dangerous  ways,"  was  the  seriously-spoken 
reply.  "  If  we  know  that  robbers  lie  in  wait  along  a 
certain  road,  what  immunity  from  attack  have  we 
if  we  travel  that  road  ?" 

"  Shall  we  be  cowards,  then  ?  or,  like  brave  men, 
fight  our  way  through  ?" 

"If  we  have  no  busihess  that  requires  us  to  go  by 
that  road,  we  put  our  courage  to  a  useless  test,"  re 
plied  Mr.  Granger.  "This  way  of  drinking,  my 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  323 

young  friend,  is  not  an  orderly  appointed  way  in 
life.  It  leads  to  no  desirable  result ;  has  no  goal  of 
fortune,  or  honor,  or  happiness.  They  who  walk  in 
it  are  not  exposed  to  the  assaults  of  robbers  alone, 
who  waste  and  plunder  their  substance,  but  fatal 
miasmas  lie  along  the  marshes  through  which  it 
often  winds.  It  has  pitfalls  in  many  of  its  smoothest 
places,  and  steep  precipices  to  which  the  road  clings 
treacherously.  If  a  man  propose  to  go  in  this  way, 
it  is  better  that  he  should  go  alone,  Mr.  Pickering. 
Love,  surely,  will  not  expose  its  object,  needlessly, 
to  dangers  like  these." 

"  Frankly,  Mr.  Granger,  I  see  more  of  hyperbole 
in  all  this  than  a  statement  of  what  the  real  danger 
is,"  said  Pickering. 

The  irritation  that  betrayed  itself  in  his  manner 
a  little  while  before  was  all  gone ;  and  though  his 
speech  was  plain,  it  was  not  in  the  least  disre 
spectful. 

"The  direful  effects  that  too  surely  attend  on 
excessive  drinking,  can  scarcely  be  exaggerated  by 
any  figures  of  speech  that  our  language  is  capable  of 
forming,"  answered  Mr.  Granger.  "  I  am  many 
years  older  than  you,  and  have  seen  deeper  into 
this  evil  of  intemperance  than  it  is  possible  for  you 
to  have  seen ;  and  such  is  my  dread  of  its  subtle 
power  that  I  never  see  a  man  with  a  glass  of  in 
toxicating  liquor  in  his  hand  that  I  do  not  feel  like 
uttering  a  cry  of  warning.  Depend  upon  it,  Mr. 
Pickering,  there  is  no  safe  way  for  a  young  man,  as 


324  SA  VED 

he  makes  his  entry  into  this  world's  busy,  exciting 
and,  in  too  many  cases,  exhausting  arena,  but  that 
of  complete  abstinence  from  beverages  in  which 
alcohol  is  found." 

"It  certainly  has  its  good  as  well  as  its  evil 
effects,"  said  the  young  man.  "  Used  in  modera 
tion,  it  serves  as  a  restorative  in  some  cases,  and  as 
a  tonic  and  vitalizer  in  many  others.  And  in  cer 
tain  forms  of  disease  it  is  almost  a  specific ;  at  least, 
I  have  so  understood." 

"  I  scarcely  think  you  have  studied  this  subject  in 
the  light  of  more  recent  investigations  and  expe 
riences,"  remarked  Mr.  Granger. 

"  In  truth,  I  have  not  studied  it  at  all.  But  there 
are  facts  which  are  commonly  known  and  accepted, 
and  these  scarcely  warrant  the  complete  banishment 
to  which  our  extreme  temperance  advocates  would 
subject  all  kinds  of  liquor,  not  excepting  beer  and 
the  lighter  wines." 

"  There  are  many  inferences,  and  loose  sayings, 
and  unproved  assertions  in  regard  to  the  beneficial 
effects  of  alcohol  on  the  human  body,  as  well  in 
health  as  in  sickness,"  was  replied,  "  but  one  after 
another,  they  are  being  disproved,  until  the  sub 
stance  called  alcohol  has,  by  the  ablest  chemists  and 
pathologists,  with  only  an  exception  here  and  there, 
been  set  over  to  the  side  of  poisons.  It  has  no  food 
value  whatever;  and  its  disturbing  and  disorgan 
izing  effects  have  become  so  well  known  in  the 
medical  profession,  that  even  the  small  number  of 


AS  BY  FIXE.  325 

intelligent  physicians  who  hold  to  its  administration 
in  certain  cases,  the  range  of  which  grows  narrower 
every  day,  are  giving  it  with  great  caution  and  in 
very  small  doses." 

"  Is  this  really  so?"  asked  the  young  man,  show 
ing  some  surprise. 

"  It  is  just  as  I  have  said,"  replied  Mr.  Granger. 
"This  whole  subject  is  receiving  the  most  careful 
attention  from  the  best  medical  experts;  and  the 
day  of  guess  work  and  loose  generalization  is  over. 
Nothing  will  now  do  for  prudent  men  but  rigid 
analysis  and  clearly-established  fact.  Let  me  urge 
upon  you,  in  the  outset  of  life,  to  give  this  question 
of  the  true  effect  of  alcohol  on  the  human  system 
an  impartial  examination ;  to  challenge  a  substance 
that  works  such  fearful  havoc  among  men,  and 
require  it  to  answer  in  no  uncertain  speech.  If  it 
be  a  friend  of  the  people,  there  will  be  no  difficulty 
in  establishing  the  fact ;  if  an  enemy,  the  case  can 
be  made  equally  clear." 

"Thank  you  for  the  suggestion,  Mr.  Granger," 
said  the  young  man.  "  There  is  reason  in  what 
you  say.  I  will  look  into  this  matter  more  care 
fully,  and  if  I  find  it  as  you  allege,  I  shall  not 
hesitate  about  my  future  attitude." 

"  If  you  will  come  and  see  us  to-morrow  evening, 
I  think  you  will  be  likely  to  hear  a  discussion  on 
this  subject  that  will  interest  you.  A  few  friends 
are  coming  in,  among  whom  will  be  a  Dr.  Gilbert, 
from  New  York,  who  has  given  the  subject  of  in- 


326  SAVED 

ebriation  and  the  action  of  alcoholic  stimulants  on 
the  human  body,  a  careful  study  for  many  years. 
He  is  no  temperance  enthusiast,  as  the  people  are 
too  much  inclined  to  call  such  men  as  I  am,  but  a 
cool-headed  observer,  who  will  be  satisfied  with 
nothing  in  relation  to  this  subject  which  the  most 
perfect  methods  of  chemical  analysis  and  physio 
logical  investigation  have  not  settled.  You  will  be 
impressed  with  him  as  a  man  who  knows  whereof 
he  speaks." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Granger.  I  shall  certainly 
avail  myself  of  the  opportunity.  It  is  clear  seeing 
that  makes  right  action.  But  to  act  where  the 
judgment  is  not  convinced  is  never  wise.  And  this 
is  the  cause  of  my  hesitation  now.  I  might  pro 
mise  you  that  I  would  never  take  wine  or  brandy ; 
but  if  I  did  not  think  it  wrong,  for  some  clearly- 
seen  reason,  to  use  these  articles,  my  promise  would 
ever  after  be  an  annoying  impediment,  and  might 
be  broken.  But  if  my  promise  rests  on  principle ; 
if  I  abstain  from  prudence  and  judgment ;  my  atti 
tude  towards  the  drinking  customs  of  society  will 
express  my  true  sentiments,  and  I  shall  stand  firm 
on  the  solid  ground  of  my  convictions." 

"  Which  will  be  far  better,"  returned  Mr.  Granger, 


CHAPTEE  XXII. 

SOLI')  ARGUMENTS. 

ON  arriving  at  Mr.  Granger's,  I  found  a  small 
but  select  company.  There  were  Dr.  Gilbert, 
and  Judge  Arbuckle  and  his  wife,  whom  I  had  been 
particularly  invited  to  meet.  Mr.  Stannard  was 
there  also ;  and  a  Mrs.  K ,  one  of  the  represen 
tative  women  who  were  actively  engaged  in  the  work 
of  Christian  temperance  reform.  I  had  not  before 
seen  young  Henry  Pickering,  and  was  attracted  by 
his  face  and  bearing ;  and  particularly  so,  as  it  was 
plain,  from  unmistakable  signs,  that  he  was  more  te 
Amy  Granger  than  an  ordinary  acquaintance.  But 
I  did  not  fail  to  observe  that  there  was  in  the  atti 
tude  of  these  young  people  towards  each  other  a 
certain  reserve  that  was  almost  embarrassment. 
During  the  conversation  that  ensued,  and  which 
soon  drifted  into  a  discussion  of  the  claims  of  alco 
hol  to  have  any  nutritive  or  therapeutical  value,  I 
was  struck  by  the  intentness  with  which  Amy 
watched  the  young  man's  face,  as  if  trying  to  read  his 
thoughts ;  and  there  was,  at  times,  a  restlessness  in 
her  manner  that  was  particularly  noticeable,  with 
occasional  swift  changes  in  the  expression  of  her 
countenance.  You  saw  it  light  up  suddenly  when 
some  strong  point  was  made  by  Dr.  Gilbert ;  and 
327 


328  *>A  VED 

this  was  always  accompanied  by  a  glance  towards  the 
young  man  who  was  seated  by  her  side. 

Dr.  Gilbert,  whom  I  had  not  met  before,  was  a 
man  about  fifty,  with  a  quiet,  thoughtful  face.  You 
saw  in  his  eyes,  which  were  a  dark  gray,  that  steady, 
intent  expression  which  comes  of  earnest  thought. 
His  mouth  was  firm,  its  character  harmonizing  with 
what  you  saw  in  his  eyes.  You  recognized  him  at 
once  as  a  man  with  whom  neither  fancy  nor  impulse 
could  have  much  influence. 

Judge  Arbuckle  was  another  style  of  man  alto 
gether.  He  was  taller,  with  a  finer  muscular  de 
velopment,  and  a  larger  head.  His  eyes  were 
darker,  and  so  was  his  complexion.  All  his  features 
broke  into  a  quicker  play,  and  you  perceived  at  once 
that  he  was  a  man  of  sentiment  and  feeling  as  well 
as  of  intellect  and  perception,  and  that  in  any  direc 
tion  in  which  he  might  throw  himself  he  would 
display  both  mental  vigor  and  force  of  will. 

It  was  curious  to  see  these  two  men  meet  in  the 
discussion  I  had  come  prepared  to  hear.  But  I 
knew  enough  of  the  results  of  recent  investigations 
in  regard  to  alcohol,  to  be  very  well  satisfied  about 
the  issue,  if  Dr.  Gilbert  was  as  well  posted  in  facts 
and  results  as  I  had  reason  to  believe. 

I  will  not  hold  the  reader  in  any  of  the  prelimi 
nary  phases  and  drifts  of  conversation  into  which 
the  company  fell,  but  bring  him  in  contact  therewith 
where  the  points  of  interest  were  clear,  and  bore 
with  distinctive  force  on  the  main  subject  under 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  329 

discussion,  which  was  the  affirmation  on  one  side 
that  alcohol,  if  used  in  moderation,  was  beneficial, 
and  the  declaration  on  the  other  that  its  action  on 
the  human  body,  except  in  some  very  unusual  con 
ditions,  was  always  hurtful. 

"  I  claim,"  said  Judge  Arbuckle,  "  that  wine,  and 
in  many  cases  brandy,  are  necessary  articles,  both 
in  diet  and  medicine.  They  assist  nature  in  the 
work  of  digestion,  and  give  tone  to  weakened  nerves. 
I  have  seen  many  lives  saved,  under  conditions  of 
extreme  prostration,  by  the  use  of  spirits.  In 
typhoid  fevers,  brandy,  as  you  well  know,  is  the 
physician's  sheet-anchor.  Without  it,  three  out  of 
every  five  of  his  patients  would  die  from  simple  lack 
of  heart-power,  which  can  only  be  restored  through 
active  stimulation.  In  sudden  attacks  of  illness,  as 
in  faintings,  cholics,  a  suspension  of  heart-action,  or 
exhaustion  from  fatigue  or  cold,  there  is  nothing 
that  will  act  so  quickly  as  a  glass  of  brandy.  I 
never  think  of  leaving  home  without  a  supply ;  and 
should  regard  myself  as  culpable  were  I  to  do  so. 
I  can  point  to  scores  of  instances  in  which  a  timely 
draught  of  brandy  has  saved  me  from  a  spell  of 
sickness,  if  it  has  not  saved  my  life.  There  is  one 
fact  that  should  never  be  overlooked.  Society  is 
not  in  a  normal  condition.  It  is  overworked.  There 
is  a  strain  upon  everything,  and  a  consequent  ex 
haustion  of  strength.  Kature,  always  quick  in  her 
instinct  of  danger,  has,  at  the  same  time,  as  quick 
a  perception  of  the  remedy  needed ;  and  her  indica- 


330  SAVED 

tion  is  unmistakable  here.  It  is  stimulation  that  is 
required.  All  men  feel  this;  and  the  universal 
resort  to  stimulants  of  one  kind  or  another  is  but 
the  natural  and  necessary  response  to  the  demands 
of  our  exhausted  and  failing  vital  forces." 

The  judge  spoke  with  considerable  warmth  of 
manner,  and  with  a  tone  and  emphasis  which  ex 
pressed  his  firm  conviction  that  the  assertions  he  was 
making  were  unanswerable. 

"  Facts  and  experience  are  stubborn  things,  doc 
tor,"  he  closed  by  remarking ;  "  and  these  we  have 
in  abundance.  But  men  who  have  pet  theories" — 
he  smiled  pleasantly  as  he  said  it — "  are  wonderfully 
skilled  in  the  art  of  explaining  away  both." 

Dr.  Gilbert  did  not  seem  to  be  in  any  haste  to 
controvert  the  judge's  assertions.  His  first  response 
came  in  the  form  of  a  question. 

"  If  you  were  to  find  a  man  benumbed  with  cold, 
what  would  you  do  for  him  ?" 

"  Pour  a  glass  of  brandy  down  his  throat  as  quickly 
as  possible." 

"  For  what  purpose  ?" 

"To  heat  him  up,  of  course.  Heat  is  life;  cold 
is  death." 

"  Suppose  I  were  to  tell  you  that  alcohol  lowers 
instead  of  raising  the  temperature  of  the  body." 

"  I  would  say  that  you  were  jesting." 

"And  yet  the  assertion  is  true." 

"  Did  you  ever  take  a  swallow  of  brandy  ?" 

"  Yes." 


AS  BY  FIRE.  33} 

"  Did  it  make  you  feel  cold  or  warm  ?" 

"  I  felt  a  sense  of  warmth." 

"  Burning  up  even  to  your  face  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Is  heat  cold,  doctor  ?"  The  judge  spoke  as  one 
who  had  closed  the  controversy  in  a  single  sentence. 

"  Does  heat  cause  the  thermometer  to  fall  ?"  asked 
Dr.  Gilbert. 

"  I  do  not  see  the  drift  of  your  question,"  replied 
the  judge. 

"After  the  most  carefully  conducted  experiments, 
often  repeated,"  said  the  doctor,  "  the  fact  has  been 
clearly  established  that  alcohol,  instead  of  imparting 
warmth  to  the  body,  actually  lowers  its  tempera 
ture." 

Judge  Arbuckle  shook  his  head  in  a  decided 
negative.  "  If  I  take  glass  of  wine  or  brandy,  I 
come  into  an  immediate  glow.  It  doesn't  do  to  tell 
me  that  I  feel  cold.  Experiment  may  prove  what 
it  can ;  but  it  certainly  cannot  prove  this — at  least 
not  to  my  satisfaction.  There  is  such  a  thing  as 
color  blindness ;  and  a  like  defect  may  exist  in  some 
of  the  other  senses.  Feeling  with  some  may  be 
blind  also,  and  mistake  heat  for  cold." 

"A  young  lady  blushes,"  said  the  doctor,  in  reply. 
"  You  will  hardly  say  that  because  her  cheeks  have 
become  hot  the  temperature  of  her  whole  body  has 
been  raised ;  but  rather  infer  that  the  equilibrium  of 
heat  has  been  disturbed,  or  that  the  capillaries  have 
become  relaxed  and  suffused.  An  impulse  of  feeling 
21 


332  SA  VED 

has  disturbed  the  heart's  action,  and  made  its  beats 
more  violent.  Suppose  this  temporary  engorgement 
of  the  minute  blood  vessels  of  the  skin  were  to  take 
place,  with  a  sense  of  heat  all  over  the  body,  would 
there  not  be  an  increased  radiation  of  heat  from  all 
the  surface,  and  a  consequent  lowering  of  the  body's 
temperature,  especially  with  the  interior  organs?" 

"  But  what  has  the  blushing  of  a  young  lady  to 
do  with  the  colorific  or  refrigerant  effect  of  a  glass 
of  brandy  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

"  The  phenomenon  observed  in  both  cases  is  due 
to  the  same  cause,"  said  the  doctor.  "Alcohol  re 
laxes  the  minuter  vessels  so  that  they  are  unable  to 
return  the  blood  promptly  to  the  circulation  ;  cuta 
neous  engorgements  follow,  with  an  increase  of  sur 
face  heat,  and  accelerated  radiation.  The  effect  on 
the  extremities  of  the  nerves  is  that  of  a  warm  glow, 
such  as  is  felt  during  a  reaction  from  cold.  Instead 
of  there  being  an  actual  increase  in  the  general 
temperature  of  the  body,  as  the  result  of  alcoholic 
stimulant,  a  reduction  takes  place,  as  has  been 
proved  over  and  over  again  by  the  thermometer." 

"  You  take  me  out  of  my  depths  here,  doctor.  I 
have  never  given  much  attention  to  physiology," 
answered  the  judge,  a  little  less  confident  in  his 
manner. 

"  But  you  know  what  common  sense  is ;  and  how 
to  deduce  conclusions  from  well-established  facts.  It 
is  the  habit  of  your  mind  to  weigh  evidence.  Now, 
for  the  sake  of  the  truth,  which  is  as  dear  to  you  as 


AS  BY  FIRE.  333 

to  any  man  living,  will  you  not,  for  a  little  while, 
take  the  place  of  a  judge  in  this  controversy,  and 
give  to  the  evidence  I  shall  bring  against  alcohol  as 
an  enemy  to  the  human  race,  the  grave  considera 
tion  it  should  have  ?" 

"  I  accept  the  office  to  which  you  so  gracefully 
assign  me,"  replied  the  judt'e,  smiling.  "  But  as  I 
leave  my  client  without  an  advocate,  I  shall  claim 
the  right  to  say  a  word  in  his  behalf  if  I  think  you 
treat  him  unfairly." 

"As  many  words  as  you  please.  If  there  is  any 
good  in  him  I  should  like  to  know  it;  but  I  am  free 
to  say,  that  the  more  carefully  I  investigate  his 
claim  to  be,  in  anv  sense,  a  friend  to  the  human 

* 

race,  except  for  what  service  he  may  give  in  chem 
istry  and  the  arts,  the  more  complete  are  my  convic 
tions  that  he  is  only  an  enemy.  I  cannot  find  a 
single  thing  in  which  the  harm  of  his  presence  is 
not  greater  than  the  good. 

"  But  we  were  talking  about  the  heat-producing 
quality  of  alcohol.  Now,  heat  is  generated  through 
the  union  of  oxygen  with  carbon,  by  which  the  latter 
is  consumed.  There  are  certain  articles  of  food,  such 
as  the  fat,  starches  and  sugars,  which  are  known  as 
heat-producing  and  force-generating,  and  chemistry 
is  at  no  loss  in  regard  to  them.  Their  value  has 
been  determined  with  the  greatest  accuracy.  The 
amount  of  heat  that  each  of  these  substances  will 
give  when  taken  into  the  body  has  been  carefully 
measured,  and  is  known  to  all  in  our  profession. 


334 


SAVED 


But  in  regard  to  alcohol,  so  long  held  even  by  med 
ical  men,  to  be  a  heat-producer,  animal  chemistry 
has  not  yet  been  made  to  detect  any  evidence  of  ox 
idation,  the  blood  showing  none  of  the  usual  results 
of  this  process.  And  now,  since  we  have  been  using 
the  thermometer  as  a  test  of  the  internal  temperature 
of  the  body,  in  order  to  ascertain  the  heating  value 
of  foods,  or  its  thermal  condition  under  various  dis 
turbing  influences,  we  find  that  when  alcohol  is 
taken  there  follows  a  marked  reduction  of  heat. 
The  best  medical  writers  now  agree  on  this  subject ; 
and  some  practitioners  have  even  gone  so  far  as  to 
administer  it  in  fever  as  a  cooling  agent. 

"Even  before  science  had  made  this  discovery 
of  the  non-heat-generating  power  of  alcohol,  arctic 
navigators  had  learned  from  experience  that  the  use 
of  spirits  lessens  a  man's  ability  to  withstand  cold ; 
and  now  the  extreme  northern  voyager  avoids  its 
use  altogether,  in  order  to  retain  sufficient  heat  to 
sustain  him  under  the  intense  cold  to  which  he  is 
subjected.  In  the  voyage  made  in  search  of  Sir 
John  Franklin,  no  alcoholic  stimulants  were  used  ; 
and  the  northern  whaler  employs  them  very  spar 
ingly  or  not  at  all." 

"  Do  you  remember,"  said  Mr.  Stannard,  at  this 
point,  "a  Pole  named  Lemonowsky,  who,  some 
twenty  years  ago,  gave  lectures  in  this  country  on 
Napoleon  ?" 

Some  of  us  remembered  him  very  well. 

"  I  mentioned  him  because  of  a  lecture  he  gave  on 


AS  BY  FIR E.  335 

temperance,  the  facts  of  which  fully  corroborate  what 
the  doctor  has  just  been  saying.  Lemonowsky,  who 
had  been  an  officer  in  Napoleon's  army,  stated,  that 
when  about  leaving  home,  as  a  boy,  his  father  placed 
his  hand  upon  his  head,  and  after  declaring  that 
intoxicating  drinks  were  the  great  curse  of  mankind, 
solemnly  conjured  him  never  to  touch  or  taste  them; 
and  that  he  gave  his  father  a  promise  that  he  never 
would.  And  all  his  life  he  remained  true  to  that 
promise.  He  took  the  ground,  that  the  use  of  alco 
hol  in  extreme  cold,  extreme  heat  or  extreme  ex 
haustion,  was  dangerous,  and  often  fatal,  and,  in 
proof  of  his  position,  made  three  statements  of  re 
markable  facts  which  had  come  within  his  own  ob 
servation  and  experience. 

"  Lemonowsky  accompanied  Napoleon  in  his  in 
vasion  of  Russia.  He  said,  that  among  his  imme 
diate  associates  in  the  army  were  about  thirty  who, 
like  himself,  wholly  abstained  from  ardent  spirits, 
and  that  while  men  who  drank  freely  were  dying 
almost  like  sheep  from  gangrene  and  other  diseases, 
brought  on  from  exposure  to  the  intense  cold,  every 
one  of  these  thirty  abstainers  were  in  good  health, 
and  every  one  came  back  from  that  disastrous  cam 
paign.  In  Egypt,  when  heat  was  enervating  the 
army,  and  death  rapidly  reducing  its  numbers,  the 
men  who  refused  to  drink  ardent  spirits  still  retained 
their  health,  and  suffered  from  thirst  and  heat  far 
less  than  their  companions.  This  intelligent  Pole 
then  went  on  to  relate  how,  after  the  battle  of 


336  SAVED 

Waterloo,  and  the  delivery  by  the  allies  of  Marshal 
Ney  and  many  of  the  officers  to  the  French  at  Paris, 
he,  with  a  few  others,  effected  their  escape,  and  put 
to  sea  in  a  boat,  from  which  they  were  taken  while 
in  the  British  Channel  by  a  vessel  bound  to  the 
United  States.  Subsequently  this  vessel  was  wrecked 
in  a  storm,  and  Lemonowsky  found  himself  again 
upon  the  sea  in  an  open  boat,  with  nine  companions 
and  only  a  small  supply  of  provisions  and  water. 
These  were  soon  used  up,  and  for  many  days  they 
had  nothing  to  eat  or  drink.  When  finally  rescued, 
by  a  vessel  bound  to  Philadelphia,  they  were  in 
such  an  extreme  state  of  exhaustion  that  they  had 
to  be  literally  carried  on  board.  '  Immediately,' 
said  the  narrator,  '  on  being  placed  in  a  berth,  the 
ship's  doctor  brought  me  a  glass  of  hot  whisky  and 
water,  and  placed  it  to  my  lips.  But  I  refused 
to  drink  it.'  '  You  must,  or  you  will  die,'  he  said. 
'  Then  I  told  him  I  would  die,  for  I  never  had  and 
never  would  drink  intoxicating  liquor.  He  got 
angry,  and  swore  at  me,  and  called  me  a  fool.  But 
I  wouldn't  touch  his  whisky.  Well,  gentlemen 
and  ladies,  I  recovered ;  but  of  the  nine  who  were 
taken  with  me  out  of  the  boat,  and  who  took  the 
doctor's  stimulating  draught,  hot  even  though  it 
was,  every  one  died.  So,  you  see,  that  in  extreme 
cold,  or  heat,  or  exhaustion,  alcohol,  so  far  from 
being  useful,  is  one  of  the  most  dangerous  sub 
stances  a  man  can  take  into  his  system.' ' 

"A  very  striking  experience,  certainly,"  said  Dr. 


At,  B  Y  FIRE.  337 

Gilbert,  "and  one  that  is  entirely  in  the  line  of 
legitimate  results,  as  proved  by  the  latest  and  most 
carefully-conducted  experiments.  There  was  a  time 
when,  if  I  had  heard  this  story  of  Lemonowsky's,  I 
would  have  pronounced  it  a  bit  of  fancy  work,  or, 
at  least,  an  exaggeration  of  an  isolated  case  or  two 
which  were  but  exceptions  to  a  rule,  the  action  of 
which  was  all  on  the  other  side.  But  I  can  well 
believe,  now,  that  the  sturdy  old  Pole  gave  truthful 
evidence  of  which  he  knew." 

"If  I  understand  the  case,"  remarked  Judge 
Arbuckle ;  "  I  am  on  the  bench,  you  see,  and  am 
considering  the  evidence — the  result  of  some  recent 
experiments,  and  the  evidence  of  a  few  isolated  facts 
are  held  to  disprove  the  beneficial  effects  of  a  sub 
stance  which  medical  men  have  used  efficiently  for 
generations,  and  which  every  head  of  a  family  has 
administered  with  success  in  scores,  if  not  hundreds 
pf  instances  of  sudden  sickness." 

"The  new  and  exhaustive  tests  to  which  this 
substance  has  been  subjected,"  replied  Dr.  Gilbert, 
"  have  nearly  all  been  conducted  within  the  last  ten 
years,  and  so  conclusive  have  been  the  results,  that 
in  the  International  Medical  Congress,  which  met 
last  year  in  Philadelphia,  at  which  over  six  hun 
dred  delegates  from  this  country  and  Europe  were 
assembled,  a  report  was  adopted  in  which  alcohol 
was  declared  to  have  no  food  value  whatever,  and  to 
be  so  deleterious  in  its  effects  on  the  human  organism, 
as  to  leave  a  grave  doubt  whether,  even  as  a  medi- 


338  SA  VED 

cine  in  the  most  extreme  cases,  it  did  not  do  more 
harm  than  good." 

"  Not  unanimously  adopted,  certainly." 
"The  facts  are  simply  these.  The  National 
Temperance  Society  sent  a  memorial  to  this  im 
portant  Congress,  asking  from  it  a  public  declara 
tion  to  the  effect  that  alcohol  should  be  classed  with 
other  powerful  drugs,  and  that  when  prescribed 
medicinally,  it  should  be  with  conscientious  caution 
and  a  sense  of  grave  responsibility.  That  it  should 
declare  it  to  be  in  no  sense  a  food  for  the  human 
system,  and  that  its  improper  use  is  productive  of  a 
large  amount  of  physical  disease,  tending  to  dete 
riorate  the  human  race ;  and  further,  to  recommend 
to  their  several  nationalities,  as  representatives  of 
enlightened  science,  a  total  abstinence  from  aloholic 
beverages.  The  consideration  of  this  memorial  was 
referred  to  the  '  Section  on  Medicine/  in  which  the 
questions  proposed  were  discussed  with  marked 
ability  and  earnestness,  resulting  in  the  almost 
unanimous  adoption  of  an  elaborate  report  by  Dr. 
Ezra  M.  Hunt.  In  this  report  alcohol  is  declared 
to  have  no  food  value,  and  to  be  of  doubtful  utility 
as  a  medicine.  Indeed,  its  therapeutic  value  is 
limited  almost  exclusively  to  that  of  a  cardiac 
stimulant  in  certain  extreme  cases  which  often 
admit  of  substitutions.  Of  its  evil  and  destructive 
action  on  the  body  and  brain,  a  frightful  exhibit  is 
given.  This  report,  as  transmitted  by  the  '  Section 
on  Medicine'  to  the  General  Congress,  was  ordered 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

by  that  body  to  be  sent  to  the  National  Temperance 
Society  as  an  answer  to  its  memorial." 

I  was  observing  the  face  of  Judge  Arbuckle  while 
Dr.  Gilbert  was  speaking.  The  grave,  almost  puz 
zled  expression  that  came  creeping  over  it,  was 
curious  to  see.  The  judge  had  a  respect  for  science, 
learning  and  authority.  The  testimony  of  the  old 
Pole,  Lemonowsky,  went  for  almost  nothing.  But 
here  was  an  International  Medical  Congress  of  over 
six  hundred  eminent  physicians,  representing,  of 
course,  the  highest  intelligence  of  the  profession, 
uttering  its  grave  condemnation,  and  at  a  word 
sealing  up  the  bottle  from  which  he  had  been 
drawing  his  favorite  medicament,  and  declaring  its 
use  to  be  hurtful  in  nearly  every  case  of  adminis 
tration. 

"  I  don't  know,  doctor,"  he  said,  "  whether  I  am 
really  awake  or  not;  all  this  is  so  new  and  im 
probable.  I  shall  expect  to  hear,  presently,  that  a 
beefsteak  has  its  hidden  dangers,  and  that  coffee 
will  poison  as  surely  as  arsenic." 

"  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them ;  and  it  so 
happens  that,  in  regard  to  alcohol,  there  is  no  diffi 
culty  about  the  fruit,"  returned  the  doctor. 

"  None  whatever  in  regard  to  its  abuse,"  returned 
the  judge.  "That  is  admitted  by  every  one.  But 
we  are  talking  of  its  moderate  use  as  a  beverage,  and 
of  its  value  as  a  medicine.  Take  me,  for  example. 
I  have  used  more  or  less  wine  and  spirits  for  over 
twenty-five  years.  Few  men  enjoy  better  health. 


340  SAVED 

Except  some  torpor  of  the  liver,  which  I  believe  is 
hereditary." 

Dr.  Gilbert  looked  steadily  into  Judge  Arbuckle's 
face  for  a  few  moments,  as  if  making  a  critical 
examination.  Then  reaching  out  his  hand,  he 
said :  "  Let  me  feel  your  pulse,  judge." 

There  was  a  deep  pause  and  silence. 

"  With  some  slight  disturbance  of  the  heart  occa 
sionally,"  remarked  the  doctor,  quietly. 

"  Very  slight.  Nothing  to  speak  of,"  replied 
the  judge,  with  the  manner  of  one  who  felt  a  little 
disturbed. 

"A  sinking  sensation  after  exertion,  or  anxiety,  or 
abstinence  from  food  ?" 

"  Yes,  sometimes." 

"  Which  all  comes  right  after  a  good,  strong  glass 
of  brandy?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  find  this  occurring  oftener  than  it  did  a  few 
years  ago  ?" 

"Well,  yes.  I'm  getting  older,  you  see,  and 
any  organic  trouble  one  may  have  generally 
increases  with  age.  But,  fortunately,  I  know 
what  to  do,  and  have  my  remedy  always  at 
hand." 

"  In  some  form  of  alcoholic  stimulant  ?" 

"Exactly." 

"  How  often  do  you  resort  to  this  remedy  ?  Every 
day?" 

J  saw  a  change  of  expression  in  the  judge's  face, 


AS  BY  FIRE.  341 

and  a  contraction  of  his  brows,  as  he  replied :  "Al 
most  every  day."    . 

"  Especially  in  the  morning  before  you  have  taken 
food?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  now,  Judge  Arbuckle,"  said  the  doctor, 
with  a  grave  smile  on  his  face,  "  did  it  never  occur 
to  you  that  the  remedy  you  are  taking  for  the  relief 
of  this  trouble  is  the  very  agent  by  which  it  has 
been  produced  ?" 

Judge  Arbuckle  shook  his  head  in  a  decided 
manner. 

"  And  that  your  torpid  liver  is  only  another  evi 
dence  of  organic  deterioration  produced  by  this 
favorite  remedy — or  shall  I  say  beverage — to  which 
you  resort  so  frequently  ?" 

"  Organic  deterioration,  doctor !"  There  was  a 
covert  alarm  in  the  judge's  voice. 

•'  There  is  no  substance  used  by  man  which  pro 
duces  so  many  and  such  serious  organic  deterioration 
as  alcohol,"  replied  the  doctor,  speaking  soberly 
"  There  is  not  an  organ,  or  delicate  nerve,  or  mem 
brane,  or  fluid,  or  vessel,  that  it  does  not  hurt  by 
contact,  or  deteriorate  if  the  contact  be  continued. 
The  heart,  which  is  the  centre  of  life,  is  subjected  to 
an  excess  of  strain  so  long  as  it  is  in  the  system,  be 
cause,  being  a  substance  that  is  never  digested,  or 
converted  into  food  or  force,  it  hurts  and  disturbs 
until  elimination  takes  place.  But  this  strain,  or 
overwork,  is  the  least  of  the  evils  which  come  from 


342  SA  VED 

the  presence  of  alcohol.  The  changes  and  deteriora- 
tions  of  structure,  and  in  the  condition  of  the  blood, 
which  take  place  in  consequence  of  the  presence  of 
alcohol,  are  of  a  most  serious  character.  Let  me  try 
to  make  this  plain.  The  whole  surface  of  the  body, 
and  every  particular  organ,  muscle,  nerve,  blood 
vessel,  and  even  the  bones,  are  enveloped  in  sheaths 
or  coverings  called  the  membranes.  Besides  the  first 
apparent  use  of  these  membranes,  many  of  which 
serve  as  enveloping  bandages,  by  which  all  the 
structures  are  held  together  in  perfect  order,  they 
have  a  still  more  important  use  in  the  animal  econo 
my.  They  are  the  iilten  of  the  body,  and  without 
them  there  could  be  no  building  of  the  structures 
they  line  or  enclose.  The  food  we  take  contains  all 
the  various  things  required  for  the  life  and  health  of 
the  body ;  albumen,  caesin  and  vegetable  film  for 
tissue  building ;  fat,  sugar  and  starch  for  the  produc 
tion  of  heat  and  force ;  water  as  the  general  solvent, 
and  salt  for  constructive  and  other  purposes.  These 
have,  after  digestion,  to  be  arranged  in  the  body, 
which  is  done  by  the  membranes,  through  which 
nothing  can  pass  which  is  not,  for  the  time,  in  a  state 
of  aqueous  solution.  Water  passes  freely  through 
them,  and  so  do  soluble  salts ;  but  the  constructive 
albuminous  matter  does  not  pass  until  it  is  chemi 
cally  decomposed.  Upon  their  integrity  all  the 
silent  work  of  building  up  the  body  depends.  If 
these  membranes  are  rendered  too  porous,  and  let 
out  the  tissue-building  fluids  of  the  blood,  the  body 


AS  BY  FIRE.  343 

dies  gradually,  as  if  it  were  being  slowly  bled  to 
death ;  if,  on  the  contrary,  they  become  condensed  or 
thickened,  they  fail  to  let  the  natural  fluids  pass 
through  them,  and  the  result  is  either  an  accumula 
tion  of  fluids  in  a  closed  cavity,  or  the  contraction 
of  the  substance  enclosed  within  the  membrane,  or 
a  dryness  of  membranous  surfaces  which  ought  to 
be  freely  lubricated  and  kept  apart. 

"  Now,  the  most  carefully-conducted  experiments 
have  educed  the  fact  that  upon  all  the  membranous 
structures  alcohol  exerts  a  direct  and  perverting 
action.  It  produces  in  them  a  thickening,  a  shrink 
ing  and  an  inactivity  that  reduces  their  functional 
power.  That  they  may  work  rapidly  and  equally, 
they  require  to  be  at  all  times  charged  with  water  to 
saturation ;  and  an  agent  that  deprives  them  of  any 
portion  of  this  water  interferes  with  their  work,  and 
lays  the  foundation  of  structural  derangements  and 
deteriorations  that  are  often  fatal  in  the  end.  Alco 
hol  is  an  agent  which  possesses,  in  a  high  degree, 
this  power  of  absorbing  water ;  and  as  soon  as  it  is 
taken  into  the  body  it  begins  the  work  of  absorption. 
Dr.  Hunt,  in  his  report  to  the  Medical  Congress, 
says :  '  The  power  alcohol  has  of  drying  secretions, 
and  congesting  membranes,  is  unsurpassed  by  any 
known  remedy  in  general  use ;'  and  Dr.  Richard 
son,  in  his  Cantor  Lectures  on  Alcohol,  dwells  par 
ticularly  on  this  point  in  his  startling  exhibit  of  the 
destructive  effects  of  alcohol  when  taken  into  the 
tiuman  body." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  EVIDENCE  COMPLETE. 

almost  take  my  breath  away,  doctor !" 
J-  exclaimed  Judge  Arbuckle,  affecting  a 
lightness  of  tone  that  did  not  wholly  conceal  the 
more  serious  impression  which  these  charges  against 
alcohol,  as  an  enemy  to  the  animal  organism,  had 
produced  on  his  mind.  "  I  was  going  to  ask  you  in 
what  specific  manner  this  substance  affects  the  heart 
and  the  liver ;  but  I'm  half  afraid." 

"  The  best  way  to  deal  with  any  danger,  is  to  look 
it  steadily  in  the  face,  and  measure  its  power  for 
evil,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  Let  us  take  the  heart, 
which,  by  its  propelling  force,  sends  the  blood  along 
the  arteries.  One  of  the  first  effects  of  alcohol  is  a 
temporary  relaxation  or  paralysis  of  the  minuter 
blood-vessels,  which  shows  itself  often,  as  I  said  a 
little  while  ago,  in  a  sensation  of  heat.  This  causes 
the  heart  to  beat  more  quickly.  The  vessels  through 
out  the  whole  body  become  dilated,  and  are  held  in 
a  state  of  unnatural  relaxation  and  unnatural  tension. 
If  the  use  of  alcoholic  drinks  is  continued,  the  per 
sistent  pressure  causes,  in  the  course  of  time,  a  change 
in  the  diameters  of  these  vessels,  and  the  whole  mar 
velous  web-work  of  blood,  upon  which  the  organs  of 
the  body  are  constructed,  is  deranged.  Soon  the 
344 


AS  BT  FIRE.  345 

functions  of  the  heart  become  perverted — for  it 
cannot  escape  the  effects  of  stimulation.  If,  to-day, 
under  the  excitement  of  wine  or  spirits,  it  gives 
twenty-five  thousand  strokes  in  twenty-four  hours 
more  than  its  usual  number,  it  cannot  to-morrow 
sink  back  to  the  old  rate  without  experiencing  some 
disturbance,  some  feebleness,  or  some  hesitation. 
And  is  it  not  fair  to  conclude  that  an  organ  which, 
by  its  own  stroke  feeds  its  own  substance  with 
blood,  must  be  among  the  first  to  suffer  from  irregu 
lar  supplies  of  blood  ?  As  stimulation  goes  on  in 
creasing,  the  heart,  whipped  to  greater  efforts, 
gradually  enlarges,  as  the  arm  does  by  excessive  use ; 
its  exquisite  valves,  subjected  to  prolonged  strain, 
are  drawn  out  of  their  fine  proportion ;  the  orifices, 
through  which  the  great  currents  of  blood  issue  in 
their  course,  are  dilated ;  the  minute  chords  which 
hold  the  valves  in  position  and  tension  are  elon 
gated  ;  and  the  walls  of  the  ventricles  are  thickened. 
All  this  is,  of  course,  very  gradual,  and  nature,  ever 
on  the  alert  for  defense  or  repair,  holds  her  own,  as 
far  as  possible,  against  the  enemy  that  is  assaulting 
her,  and  disputes  the  ground  inch  by  inch,  and  for 
a  long  time  so  successfully,  that  but  few  outward 
signs  of  the  evil  work  that  is  going  on  make  them 
selves  visible.  But  the  time  comes  when  her  power 
of  resistance  fails,  and  when  deteriorations  of  organic 
tissues  begin.  The  membranous  envelope  and 
lining  of  the  heart  thickens,  becomes  cartilaginous, 
and  even  bony.  To  this  may  succeed  degenerative 


346 


SAVED 


changes  in  the  muscular  tissues  of  the  heart,  by 
which  the  power  of  contraction  may  be  reduced,  or 
fatty  cells  may  begin  to  replace  the  muscular  struc 
ture.  So  insidiously  do  these  organic  changes 
progress,  that  those  who  are  suffering  from  them 
are  scarcely  aware  of  the  mischief  until  it  is  far 
advanced.  They  are  for  years  conscious  of  a  failure 
of  central  power,  which  they  try  to  restore  by  the 
very  stimulation  that  produced  the  failure,  until,  in 
the  end,  the  remedy  ceases  to  act ;  whip  and  spur 
can  do  no  more,  and  the  poor,  jaded,  overworked 
heart  gives  up  the  hopeless  struggle." 

"And  the  man  dies,"  said  the  judge,  in  a  half- 
incredulous  voice.  But  his  manner  was  very  grave. 

"That  event  may  be  long  delayed;  for  nature 
never  yields  an  inch  of  ground  so  long  as  she  can 
defend  it,  and  when  forced  to  retire,  usually  does  it 
slowly,  fighting  as  she  retreats.  It  often  happens 
that,  before  the  heart  gives  up  the  struggle,  other 
vital  organs  are  subdued — the  brain,  the  liver  or 
the  lungs.  Sometimes  paralysis  or  apoplexy  ends 
the  contest.  Indeed,  death  comes  from  a  wide  range 
of  diseases,  which  have  their  origin  in  alcoholic 
deteriorations.  No  man,  who  uses  the  substance 
habitually  is  a  sound  man.  He  cannot  bear  ex 
posure,  or  sudden  changes  of  the  temperature,  or 
the  subtle  invasion  of  epidemics,  near  so  well  as  the 
man  who  never  permits  the  poison  to  enter  his 
system." 

"  You  think  my  torpid   liver   comes  from   the 


AS  BY  FIRE.  347 

presence  of  alcohol  in  my  system?"  said  the 
judge. 

"  I  have  very  little  doubt  of  it ;  for  it  is  on  that 
organ  that  alcohol  most  frequently  works  structural 
changes,"  replied  Dr.  Gilbert.  "The  liver  has  a 
remarkable  capacity  for  holding  active  substances  in 
its  cellular  parts.  In  cases  of  poisoning  from  arsenic, 
strychnine  and  other  substances,  we  turn  at  once  to 
the  liver  as  the  place  of  chief  deposit  for  foreign 
matter.  Alcohol  finds  its  way  there  promptly  ;  and 
we  might  say  that,  with  the  free  drinker  of  ardent 
spirits,  it  is  almost  continually  saturated  with  it. 
The  effect  of  alcohol  on  the  liver  is  to  retard  free 
secretion  and  the  passage  of  fluids.  The  organ 
enlarges  at  first  from  the  distension  of  its  vessels 
and  the  thickening  of  its  tissues.  Afterwards  there 
follows  a  contraction  of  membrane,  and  a  slow 
shrinking  of  the  whole  mass  of  the  organ  in  its 
cellular  parts.  Dr.  Richardson,  in  his  Cantor  Lec 
tures,  to  which  I  have  referred,  clearly  describes 
this  process.  Of  course,  as  in  other  alcoholic  poi 
soning,  the  change  is  slow,  and  the  subject  of  it 
rarely  suspects  the  cause  of  his  trouble.  When  the 
liver  has  become  a  shrunken,  hardened  mass, 
dropsy  in  the  lower  extremities  appears,  and  the 
case  becomes  hopeless.  Sometimes,  in  these  ex 
treme  changes,  a  fatty  degeneration  takes  place." 

I  saw  the  judge  glance  down  at  his  feet  and  move 
them,  I  thought,  a  little  uneasily,  when  Dr.  Gilbert 
spoke  of  dropsy  in  the  lower  extremities;  and  I 
22 


;>43  SAVED 

fancied  that  the  face  of  Mrs.  Arbuckle  changed 
suddenly.  There  was  a  pause,  which  no  one  seemed 
for  awhile  inclined  to  break. 

"If  all  this  be  so,  doctor,"  Judge  Arbuckle's 
brows  were  drawn  closely  together,  "  what  are  we  to 
do  with  the  fact  that  in  typhoid  fevers  brandy  is 
relied  upon  almost  as  much  as  if  it  were  a  specific 
for  that  disease  ?  If  alcohol  is  such  an  enemy  to 
the  human  body,  how  can  it  act  as  a  friend  here  ? 
Poison  is  poison,  and  works  destructively,  whether 
he  who  takes  it  be  sick  or  well." 

"  Does  your  physician  make  free  use  of  brandy 
in  typhoid  fever?" 

"  He  did  as  late  as  six  months  ago,"  replied  the 
judge.  "  But  now,  that  we  are  talking  on  this  sub 
ject,  I  recall  the  fact  that  since  then  one  of  my 
neighbors,  whose  daughter  was  down  with  this 
fever,  sent  him  away  and  called  in  another  physi 
cian,  because  milk  punch  was  interdicted.  My 
neighbor  would  not  take  the  risk  of  any  experi 
ments  with  his  child.  He  had  always  seen  milk 
punch  given  freely  in  typhoid  fever,  and  as  Dr. 

D refused  to  let  it  be  given,  on  the  ground 

that  he  had  adopted  some  new  theory  of  cure,  he 

was  discharged ,  and  the  case  given  to  Dr.  L , 

who  held  strictly  to  the  old  mode  of  treatment." 

"  What  was  the  result." 

"  It  was  a  very  bad  attack.  I  remember  it  all 

now.  Dr.  D was  severely  blamed  by  the  family 

for  his  treatment  of  the  case  while  it  was  in  hi» 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  349 

hands.  He  let  it  sink  so  low  for  lack  of  stimula 
tion,  that  when  brandy  was  given  it  was  too  late  to 
produce  any  reactive  effect." 

"  And  the  patient  died  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Killed  by  the  brandy,  most  likely.  Nature  had 
all  that  she  could  do  to  fight  single-handed  with  her 
enemy.  To  give  him  a  recruit  was  to  make  his 
victory  sure." 

"  You  speak  very  confidently,  Dr.  Gilbert." 

"  Because  I  speak  from  the  stand-point  of  accu 
rate  knowledge  in  regard  to  the  action  of  alcohol, 
as  well  as  from  the  experience  and  observation  of 
the  most  enlightened  men  in  our  profession.  No 
physician,  who  has  kept  pace  with  the  advance  of 
medical  science  in  the  past  few  years,  would  now 
dare  to  risk  the  life  of  his  patient,  or  to  retard  his 
cure,  by  giving  him  alcohol  freely  in  any  serious 
illness.  If  administered  at  all,  it  would  be  in  very 
small  doses,  and  with  an  exceeding  close  observation 
of  its  effects.  If  I  had  you  in  my  library,  I  could 
refer  you  to  the  recorded  testimony  in  medical  jour 
nals,  treatises  and  text-books  of  the  most  distin 
guished  and  trustworthy  members  of  the  profession 
in  this  country  and  Europe,  on  the  subject  of  the 
use  of  alcohol  in  disease ;  and  with  scarcely  an  ex 
ception,  it  is  unfavorable.  Where  its  use  is  now  sanc 
tioned  at  all,  it  is  under  the  strictest  limitations,  and 
with  the  greatest  injunctions  of  caution.  Prof. 
Loomis,  of  New  York  city,  who  does  not  entirely 


350  SAVED 

:i 

exclude  alcohol  in  his  treatment  of  typhoid  fever, 
says,  that  in  this  disease  the  experience  of  very  few 
physicians  is  such  as  to  enable  them  to  determine 
from  the  patient's  appearance,  when  the  administra 
tion  of  stimulants  should  be  commenced,  and  that 
where  there  is  reasonable  doubt  as  to  the  propriety 
of  giving  or  withholding,  it  is  better  to  withhold 
them.  He  admits  a  possible  value,  but  admonishes 
the  physician  when  prescribing  alcohol  to  his  pa 
tient  in  this  disease  to  see  him  at  least  every  two 
hours,  and  to  watch  the  effect  with  the  greatest  care. 
Dr.  Hunt,  while  approving  this  extremely  guarded 
use,  says,  that  many  excellent  practitioners  rely 
wholly  on  ammonia,  ethers  and  foods  in  such 


cases." 


"  The  evidence  against  my  client  continues  to  ac 
cumulate,"  said  the  judge,  with  something  like  a 
grim  smile  on  his  face.  "  Anything  more,  Dr. 
Gilbert?" 

"  The  testimony,  if  all  were  taken,"  replied  the 
doctor,  "  would  require  this  court  to  remain  in  session 
for  weeks,  and  if  printed,  would  fill  many  volumes. 
There  are  a  few  things  more  which  I  would  like  to 
say,  if  you  have  patience  to  hear  them.  The  pris 
oner  at  the  bar,  your  honor,  is  an  exceedingly  dan 
gerous  fellow ;  and  it  may  be  well  to  permit  those 
who  know  him  best,  and  who  understand  his  hidden 
and  subtle  ways,  and  the  evils  that  are  wrought  by 
his  hands,  to  offer  still  further  evidence  against  him. 
Richardson  says  of  alcohol,  that  it  dries  the  liver, 


AS  BY  FIRE.  35 1 

the  stomach  and  the  lungs ;  and  even  steals  moisture 
from  the  corpuscles  of  the  blood ;  and  more  than  any 
other  article  in  common  use,  initiates  degeneration  of 
important  organs.  A  claim  has  been  made  for  al 
cohol  that  it  fattens  the  body,  if  that  be  a  desirable 
result.  Many  beer-drinkers  certainly  do  become 
fat ;  but  as  a  substance  which  contains  no  fatty  ma 
terial  cannot  produce  fat,  investigation  may  naturally 
seek  for  a  reason  in  the  pathological  effects  of  alco 
hol.  It  is  found  that  the  individual  so  fattened  in 
variably  diminishes  in  physical  activity,  and  in  the 
power  of  endurance  in  proportion  to  his  increase  of 
weight ;  and  this  is  held  to  be  due  to  a  degenerative 
change  in  the  more  actively  vital  materials  of  the 
body,  and  the  slow  accumulation  of  uneliminated 
carbonacious  material.  It  is  really  disease  and  not 
health ;  the  product  of  a  degenerative  and  not  a 
normal  process.  If  alcohol  can  serve  the  human 
body  no  better  than  this,  the  body  might  well  dis 
pense  with  its  service. 

"As  a  digester,  alcohol  has  a  wide  reputation. 
Men  take  it  before  a  meal  to  prepare  the  stomach 
for  its  work,  and  with  and  after  a  meal  to  assist  it  in 
doing  its  work.  Now,  what  has  the  medical  pro 
fession  to  say  on  this  subject ;  and  what  is  the  re 
sult  of  careful  test,  analysis  and  observation  ?  One 
authority  declares  that  alcohol,  when  added  to  the 
digestive  fluid,  '  produces  a  white  precipitate,  which 
suspends  digestion;'  and  Richardson  declares  that 
of  all  the  systems  of  organs  that  suffer  from  the  use 


352  SAVED 

of  alcohol,  two,  viz :  the  digestive  and  the  nervous, 
are  effected  most  determinately.  The  stomach,  he 
remarks,  being  unable,  because  of  the  presence  of 
alcohol,  to  produce,  in  proper  quantity,  the  natural 
digestive  fluid,  and  also  unable  to  absorb  the  food 
which,  in  consequence,  is  but  imperfectly  digested, 
becomes  affected  with  anxiety  and  irritation,  or  op 
pressed  with  nausea,  or  with  a  sense  of  distension, 
or  with  a  loathing  for  food,  or  an  unnatural  craving 
for  drink.  This  self-inflicted  disease,  as  it  becomes 
confirmed,  is  called  dyspepsia ;  and  the  sufferer,  in 
stead  of  giving  up  his  wine,  or  spirits,  takes  pills,  or 
pours  into  his  poor  abused  stomach  floods  of  effer 
vescing  and  mineral  waters ;  does,  in  fact,  a  hundred 
foolish  things  by  which  he  is  made  worse.  Between 
his  drinking  and  his  medicine,  he  increases  his  indi 
gestion,  until  it  takes  on  a  chronic  form,  and  all 
enjoyment  of  life  is  over." 

"  One  might  infer  from  all  this,"  the  judge  here 
remarked,  "  that  our  prisoner  at  the  bar  is  responsi 
ble  for  all  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to." 

"  His  responsibility,"  replied  the  doctor,  "  has  a 
far  wider  range  than  most  people  imagine.  The 
consumption  of  spirits,  wine,  ale  and  beer  reaches, 
annually,  in  this  country,  the  enormous  amount  of 
over  three  hundred  millions  of  gallons.  Is  it  possible 
for  the  people  to  consume  this  vast  quantity  of  a  bev 
erage  containing  from  two  or  three  to  over  sixty  per 
cent,  of  a  substance  which,  in  the  words  of  Dr. 
Hunt,  is  'beyond  dispute,  fraught  with  the  most 


AS  BY  FIRE.  353 

prevalent  and  direful  results  to  the  physical  struct 
ure/  without  a  serious  impairment  of  the  public 
health  in  the  reduction  of  vital  power,  and  in  func 
tional  derangements,  which  lay  the  foundations  of 
diseases  which  too  often  baffle  the  physician's  skill  ? 
I  say  nothing  of  the  ills  that  afflict  our  social 
life,  which  are  more  terrible,  even,  than  the  ills 
from  which  our  bodies  suffer.  One  medical  writer 
says  of  alcohol :  '  It  helps  time  to  produce  the  effects 
of  age ;  it  is  the  genius  of  degeneration.'  Another 
says :  '  Practical  medicine  tells  us  that  three-quarters 
of  all  diseases  in  adults  who  drink  at  all  are  caused 
thereby,'  and  farther,  that,  '  the  capacity  of  the 
alcohols  for  impairment  of  functions  and  the  initia 
tion  and  promotion  of  organic  lesion  in  vital  parts, 
is  unsurpassed  by  any  record  in  the  whole  range  of 
medicine ;'  these  facts  being  so  fully  granted  by  the 
profession  as  to  be  no  longer  debatable.  But  why 
continue  to  accumulate  evidence?  If  what  I  have 
stated  be  not  sufficient  to  convict  the  accused,  it 
would  be  a  waste  of  time  to  bring  other  allegations 
against  him." 

Judge  Arbuckle's  fine  face  lighted  up  as  he 
grasped  the  hand  of  Dr.  Gilbert,  and  said  :  "  I  must 
declare  the  evidence  to  be  complete ;  and  confess,  at 
the  same  time,  that  I  have  been  too  much  prejudiced 
against  temperance  reformers,  as  a  class,  to  give  this 
subject  the  careful  and  honest  investigation  it  should 
long  ago  have  received  at  my  hands.  We  cling  to 
old  prejudices  sometimes  with  an  unreasoning  tenaci- 


354 


SAVED 


ty,  you  know.  But  is  the  statement  just  .made  by 
you  taken  from  official  returns  ? — the  one  in  regard 
to  the  enormous  consumption  of  intoxicating  drinks 
in  this  country  ?" 

"  It  is  from  Dr.  Hargreaves'  important  work, 
*  Our  Wasted  Resources,'  which  ought  to  be  care 
fully  studied  by  every  intelligent  man  who  feels  an 
interest  in  the  welfare  of  his  country,  and  in  the 
well-being  of  the  people.  The  statements  given  are, 
of  course,  authentic.  And  let  me  refer  you,  also,  to 
the  exhaustive  report  on  'Alcohol  as  a  Food  and 
Medicine/  made  to  the  recent  Medical  Congress,  by 
Dr.  Ezra  W.  Hunt,  which  has  been  published  in  a 
volume  of  nearly  a  hundred  and  fifty  pages ;  and 
to  Dr.  Richardson's  able  lectures  on  alcohol.  These 
works  are  candid,  honest  and  thorough,  and  offer 
abundant  means  for  an  examination  of  this  great 
subject,  on  the  right  treatment  and  adjustment  of 
which  hang  such  vast  results  of  good  or  evil.  I  shall 
feel  that  a  cause  which  my  judgment  approves,  and 
in  which  my  feelings  are  deeply  interested,  has 
gained  a  large  accession  of  strength,  if  you,  Judge 
Arbuckle,  should,  from  conviction  and  principle, 
range  yourself  upon  the  side  of  its  friends.  That 
cause  is  known  as  Total  Abstinence." 

The  light  which  had  come  breaking  into  Judge 
Arbuckle's  face,  as  he  grasped  the  doctor's  hand, 
faded  out  slowly,  a  sober,  thoughtful,  indeterminate 
expression  coming  in  its  stead.  "Total  abstinence!" 
Ever  since  he  could  remember,  these  two  words  hadi 


AS  BY  FIRE.  355 

been,  in  his  mind,  the  synonym  for  ignorant  and 
meddlesome  fanaticism ;  and  he  had  felt  something 
like  contempt  for  men  who  could  let  the  glass  of 
generous  wine  pass  them  untasted.  He  must  be  a 
poor  milk-sop,  or  cold,  mean  and  unsocial,  who 
could  do  this,  he  thought.  In  standing  consciously 
above  this  class,  in  his  use  of  "  a  beverage  fit  for  the 
gods,"  the  judge  had  enjoyed  a  feeling  of  superiority, 
and  a  sense  of  more  affluent  manhood.  It  is  no 
cause  of  wonder,  then,  that  his  countenance  became 
exceedingly  grave  and  thoughtful.  Had  these  men 
been  the  really  wise  ones  ?  Had  they  been  of  the 
prudent,  who,  foreseeing  the  evil,  hide  themselves, 
while  he,  passing  on  with  the  simple,  had  been  pun 
ished  ?  I  saw  that  a  great  conflict  was  going  on  in 
his  mind ;  and  I  saw,  too,  that  his  wife  was  watching 
him  with  an  intensity  of  interest  which  she  made 
no  effort  to  conceal. 

"Total  abstinence,  doctor!"  The  judge  shook 
his  head.  "  I  believe  in  moderation.  And  all  you 
have  said  as  to  the  bad  effects  of  the  alcohol  con 
tained  in  wine  and  spirits,  only  makes  moderation 
the  more  imperative." 

The  judge  had  risen  to  his  feet.  In  doing  so,  I 
noticed  a  slight  stiffness  of  movement.  He  straight 
ened  himself  up  rather  slowly,  placing  one  hand 
tightly  above  his  right  hip,  and  holding  it  there  for 
a  few  moments.  Then  he  stepped  out  and  walked 
across  the  room.  There  was,  at  first,  a  perceptible 
limp  in  one  leg ;  but  it  was  soon  gone. 


356 

Dr.  Gilbert  smiled,  as  he  said :  "  Getting  a  littU 
stiff,  judge?" 

"  Yes,"  was  answered  good  humoredly.  "  We  are 
none  of  us  as  young  as  we  were  twenty  years  ago." 

"A  man  ought  to  be  called  young  at  fifty,"  re 
plied  the  doctor.  "And  neither  you  nor  I  have 
gone  far,  if  at  all,  beyond  that  age." 

"  Fifty-one,"  said  the  judge. 

"  In  advance  of  me  less  than  a  year.  This  should 
be  the  age  of  full  vigor.  Every  organ  and  function 
in  the  body,  if  there  has  been  no  overstrain,  nor 
exposure  to  morbific  causes,  ought  to  be  in  their 
highest  activity.  The  filtering  and  lubricating 
membranes  that  line  and  inclose  the  joints,  should 
be  in  perfect  health ;  and  so  should  the  membranes 
that  sheathe  the  muscles  and  nerves,  and  enfold  and 
line  the  vital  organs.  It  is  too  soon  for  age  to 
impair  the  action,  or  to  dry  the  fluids  of  any  part 
of  the  body's  wonderful  mechanism." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  doctor,"  returned  the 
judge.  "  I  am  acquainted  with  a  great  many  men 
who  have  reached  fifty,  and  there  is  scarcely  one  of 
them  who  is  not  beginning  to  show  signs  of  ap 
proaching  age." 

"What  about  their  habits?  Are  they  strictly 
temperate  men?  Total  abstinence  from  alcoholic 
drinks,  I  mean  ?" 

"  No.  They  are  for  the  most  part,  good,  gener 
ous  livers,  but  not  given  to  excess,  except,  perhaps, 
in  a  few  cases." 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  357 

Dr.  Gilbert  smiled,  as  lie  said :  "  The  effects  of 
arsenic,  when  taken  into  the  stomach  moderately, 
have  been  carefully  observed  and  recorded,  and  are 
so  well  known  to  the  physician,  that  he  rarely,  if 
ever,  mistakes  them.  Now,  if  he  were  called  to  see 
a  patient  who  had  been  indulging  in  the  moderate 
use  of  arsenic,  and  found  ail  the  indications  of 
arsenic  poison  about  him,  would  he  not  fairly  con 
clude  that  it  was  arsenic,  and  not  old  age  or  any 
thing  else  that  was  working  the  mischief.  The 
case  with  your  friends  is  in  exact  parallel  with  this. 
The  effects  of  alcoholic  poison  have  been  as  carefully 
noted  and  recorded  as  that  produced  by  arsenic. 
We  know  just  what  it  does  in  the  human  body,  and 
how  it  does  it,  and  what  the  indications  of  its  health- 
destroying  actions  are.  And  when  we  see  a  man 
who  regularly  uses  alcohol  in  any  of  its  forms, 
suffering  from  the  troubles  which  we  know  alcohol 
produces,  we  naturally  assign  the  cause  of  his  ail 
ments  to  the  poison  he  has  taken.  If  we  find  him 
troubled  with  sciatica,  and  know,  as  we  do,  that 
alcohol  perverts  the  membranous  coverings  of  the 
nerves,  and  gives  rise  to  pressure  within  the  sheath 
of  the  nerve,  and  to  pain  in  consequence,  we 
natually  infer  that  the  origin  of  his  trouble  lies  in 
the  poison  of  alcohol.  If  the  neuralgia  is  in  the 
face,  commencing  at  some  point  where  a  nerve 
passes  through  an  opening  in  the  bone,  as  near  the 
centre  of  the  chin,  or  in  front  of  the  lower  part  of 
the  ear,  or  over  the  eye,  and  we  know  that  alcohol 


358 

thickens,  as  I  have  shown,  the  sheath  of  the  nerve, 
we  do  not  hesitate  to  conclude  that  this  thickening 
has  gone  on  until  the  bony  openings  have  become 
too  small,  and  congestion  and  intense  suffering  are 
the  consequence.  If  one  of  our  moderate-drinking 
patients  has  any  of  the  troublesome  forms  of  indi 
gestion,  we  refer  the  cause  to  the  alcohol  contained 
in  his  favorite  beverage,  for  we  know  that  alcohol 
not  only  retards  instead  of  promoting  digestion,  but 
weakens  and  diseases  the  stomach.  If  he  i*  afflicted 
with  insomnia,  we  see  in  this  most  serious  condition 
the  result  of  the  relaxation  of  the  blood-vessels  of 
the  brain,  caused  by  the  presence  of  alcohol,  and 
their  consequent  inability  to  return  the  blood 
promptly  to  the  heart ;  or  if  his  sleep  be  heavy  and 
apoplectic  in  character,  we  know  that  this  relaxation 
of  the  blood-vessel  is  so  great  as  to  result  in  en 
gorgement  and  danger.  If  there  is  fatty  degenera 
tion  of  the  hejjrt,  or  kidneys,  or  liver,  we  know  that 
alcohol  will  do  this  very  thing.  If  we  find  Bright's 
disease,  we  know  that  the  action  of  alcohol  is  to 
deteriorate  the  lining  membranes  of  the  kidneys,  by 
which  they  may  lose  their  power  to  retain  and 
rightly  dispose  of  the  albuminous  material  out  of 
which  the  tissues  of  the  body  are  constructed,  and 
let  it  pass  through  and  be  drained  from  the  system, 
which,  in  the  end,  is  certain  death.  I  could  go  on 
and  show  how  nearly  every  organic  disease  with  which 
our  poor  bodies  are  afflicted,  may  have  its  origin  in 
the  deteriorations  or  obstructions  caused  by  alcohol." 


AS  BY  FIRE.  359 

"But,  doctor,  we  have  'tic/  and  sciatica,  and  in 
somnia,  and  albuminuria,  and  all  the  diseases  you 
mention  in  persons  who  make  no  use  of  wine,  or 
beer,  or  spirits." 

"  Of  course  we  have,"  was  replied.  "  I  did  not 
mean  to  say  that  only  alcohol  causes  these  maladies. 
I  was  speaking  of  persons  who  were  habitual 
drinkers ;  and  the  conclusion  I  wished  to  press  was, 
that  as  alcohol  would  produce  the  diseases  from 
which  they  were  suffering,  it  was  but  fair  to  assume 
that  alcohol  was  the  responsible  agent  in  their  spe 
cial  cases  of  suffering." 

"There  are  hereditary  tendencies  to  many  dis 
eases,  you  know,  doctor,"  said  the  judge,  speaking 
with  the  manner  of  one  who  was  being  driven  from 
his  entrenchments,  and  with  little  more  than  a  sug 
gestion  in  his  voice. 

"The  greater  reason  why  we  should  carefully 
avoid  everything  that  will  excite  these  tendencies," 
returned  the  doctor.  "  If  there  be  one  substance 
which,  above  all  others,  in  common  use  among 
men,  disturbs  the  vital  functions,  and  works 
unhealthy  changes  in  every  particular  ihing  in 
the  body  which  it  touches,  will  not  that  substance 
be  sure  to  give  to  all  hereditary  susceptibilities 
to  disease  a  quickening  force  ?  It  cannot  be  other 
wise." 

The  judge  returned  to  his  chair ;  and  as  he  sat 
down,  drew  his  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and 
wiped  away  the  perspiration  which  had  collected  on 


3GO  SAVED 

his  forehead.  The  expression  of  his  countenance 
was  still  more  thoughtful  and  serious. 

"  Passing  from  the  physical  to  the  mental,"  said 
Dr.  Gilbert,  "  and  we  come  to  the  higher  and  more 
appalling  forms  of  disaster  which  spring  from  the 
drinking  customs  of  society.  Are  you  at  all  familiar 
with  these,  Judge  Arbuckle  ?" 

"  I  am  aware  that  many  cases  of  insanity  are  at' 
tributed  to  intemperance ;  and  I  can  easily  see  that 
confirmed  drunkenness  must  tend  to  impair  the 
mental  as  well  as  the  bodily  powers,"  returned  the 
judge. 

"  Is  it  not  clear,"  resumed  the  doctor,  "  that  a 
substance  which  attacks  and  injures  every  functional 
structure  in  the  body,  must  seriously  affect  that 
delicate  and  wonderful  piece  of  mechanism,  the 
brain?  The  moment  you  disturb  this  organ,  you 
disturb  the  mind.  You  may  hurt  the  hand,  or  the 
foot,  or  almost  any  other  organ  or  member  of  the 
body,  and  yet  thought  may  remain  clear,  and  the 
intellect  balanced ;  but  touch  the  brain — congest  its 
finer  blood-vessels,  thicken  its  delicate  membranes 
and  impair  the  quality  of  the  nervous  matter  they 
inclose,  and  a  new  peril  begins.  Before,  it  was  only 
the  physical  man  that  was  in  danger ;  now  it  is  the 
rational  and  the  moral  man.  A  deterioration  of 
brain-structure  has  commenced,  which,  if  not  ar 
rested,  may  terminate  in  insanity.  That  it  does  so 
terminate  we  know,  for  of  the  inmates  of  our  insane 
asylums,  from  fifteen  to  twenty  per  cent,  have  beeu 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

reduced  to  their  melancholy  condition  through  in 
temperance.  The  percentage  would  be  placed  much 
higher,  if  we  included  all  the  cases  wherein  the 
brain  had  been  so  much  injured  by  alcohol  as  to  be 
unable  to  bear  the  shock  of  misfortune,  bereavement 
or  humiliation,  by  which  the  reason  has  been  de 
throned. 

"  Men  who  are  in  good  health  rarely  break  down 
and  lose  their  reason  in  consequence  of  business  dis 
asters,  keen  disappointments  or  domestic  afflictions. 
1  do  not  hesitate  to  affirm — and,  as  a  physician,  I 
know  of  what  I  speak — that  no  man  who  regularly 
uses  any  beverage  in  which  alcohol  is  present,  is,  or 
can  be,  in  perfect  health,  or  in  the  full  and  undis 
turbed  possession  of  his  mental  faculties.  He  is,  in 
the  degree  that  he  uses  this  substance,  sound  neither 
in  mind  nor  body,  and  is  exposed  to  more  imminent 
dangers  than  men  who  abstain  from  its  use  alto 
gether.  He  cannot  endure  the  same  amount  of 
physical  or  mental  strain  that  he  might  have  done 
if  there  had  been  no  impairment  of  function  or 
faculty.  Now,  a  point  that  I  wish  to  urge,  is  this : 
while  we  are  not  responsible,  as  moral  beings,  for 
the  sins  of  our  fathers,  there  is  laid  upon  us,  under 
the  law  of  transmission,  a  sad  heritage  of  diseased 
tendencies,  both  of  body  and  mind,  coming  down  to 
us  through  many  generations — arrested  and  modified 
in  one,  and  intensified,  it  may  be,  in  another.  As  we 
take  this  legacy,  it  is  only  in  the  form  of  a  latent 
force.  If  our  lives  be  strictly  in  the  line  of  natural 


362  SAVED 

and  spiritual  laws ;  if  we  shun  excess  of  every  kind, 
and  hold  the  appetite  and  passions  in  check,  we  may 
keep  that  latent  force  inactive  and  harmless.  But 
if,  on  the  contrary,  we  indulge  our  appetites  and  pas 
sions,  and  disobey  the  laws  of  natural  and  spiritual 
health,  then  we  come  into  the  possession  of  this  evil 
legacy,  and  into  the  disorders  and  sufferings  it  en 
tails  ;  transmitting  it  with  an  intenser  vitality,  it 
may  be,  to  the  generation  that  comes  after  us.  Just 
what  this  legacy  of  evil  tendencies  may  be  in  your 
case  or  mine,  neither  of  us  can  know  until  we  violate 
some  law  of  natural  or  spiritual  health,  impelled 
thereto,  it  may  be,  by  its  hidden  motions.  Then  it 
first  begins  to  gain  power  over  us.  There  may  be 
an  inherited  taint  of  insanity,  intemperance  or  con 
sumption,  which  an  orderly  life  and  good  health 
may  keep  from  ever  showing  itself.  But  let  such 
a  health-disturbing  element  as  alcohol  get  into  the 
body  and  brain,  and  who  may  foretell  the  conse 
quences." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  HAPPY  CONCLUSION. 

DURING  the  whole  of  this  time,  scarcely  a  re 
mark  had  been  made  by  any  one  except  the 
judge  and  Dr.  Gilbert;  but  all  were  attentive  listeners; 
none  more  so  than  young  Henry  Pickering  and  Amy 
Granger.  My  attention  had  been  drawn  towards 
them  from  the  first,  and  the  impression  soon  came  to 
me  that  the  young  man's  attitude  towards  the  question 
under  discussion  had  not  been  altogether  such  as  the 
maiden  approved.  But  it  was  plain  now,  that  Dr. 
Gilbert's  evidence,  so  clearly  stated,  had  made  a  deep 
impression  on  his  mind.  He  turned  to  Amy,  as 
the  doctor  closed  his  remarks,  and  spoke  to  her  very 
earnestly  for  a  few  moments.  The  effect  was  strik 
ing.  Her  face  lighted  up  gradually  until  it  was  as 
if  a  sunbeam  had  fallen  over  it,  while  her  beautiful 
eyes  became  almost  radiant. 

"  For  one,"  said  Mr.  Stannard,  the  first  to  break 
the  silence  that  followed,  turning  to  Dr.  Gilbert  as 
he  spoke,  "  I  must  express  my  thanks  for  the  clear 
explanation  you  have  given  us  of  the  physical  effects 
of  alcohol.  We,  the  people,  need  instruction  on 
this  subject.  It  is  because  of  our  lack  of  reliable 
information  here,  that  so  many  go  on  impairing 
health,  and  laying  the  foundation  of  incurable 
23  363 


364 


SAVED 


diseases.  If  this  were  all ;  if  the  use  of  a  substanco 
so  destructive  to  the  body  did  not  lead,  as  you  have 
just  intimated,  to  other  and  mere  appalling  disas 
ters.  Among  these,  you  have  referred  to  insanity. 
Ah !  if  there  were  nothing  else,  this  would  be  bad 
enough.  But  among  the  evils  that  it  inflicts  on  our 
race,  insanity,  I  had  almost  said,  fo  among  the  light 
est.  Of  its  agency  in  making  criminals,  Judge 
Arbuckle  is,  perhaps,  as  well  informed  as  any  one 
present." 

The  judge,  who  had  been  sitting  with  his  eyes 
bent  to  the  floor,  almost  started  at  the  mention  of 
his  name,  his  absence  of  thought  had  been  so  great. 

" AVhat  were  you  saying?"  he  asked,  glancing 
towards  Mr.  Stannard. 

"  Only  that  you  were  probably  better  informed 
than  any  one  present  as  to  the  direct  agency  of  al 
cohol  in  making  criminals." 

"There  is  no  gainsaying  the  fact,"  replied  the 
judge,  with  much  gravity  of  manner,  "  that  a  very 
large  number  of  the  crimes  for  which  men  are  tried 
and  punished,  have  their  origin,  or  secondary  ex 
citing  cause  in  liquor-drinking." 

"  Statistics,"  remarked  Mr.  Granger,  "  tell  a  sad 
story  as  to  the  crime,  destitution,  suffering  and  pau 
perism  which  spring  from  this  one  source.  The 
figures  are  indeed  startling.  I  have  looked  at  the 
hundreds  of  poor  wretched  creatures  who  gathered 
nightly  at  our  meeting  on  Broad  Street,  and  read 
In  their  faces  the  sad  story  of  their  fall  and  degra- 


AS  B  Y  FIRE. 


365 


dation;  my  thought  has  gone  to  the  homes  made 
desolate ;  to  the  broken-hearted  wives  and  mothers ; 
to  the  abused  and  neglected  children,  that  must  be 
counted  in  as  a  part  of  the  ruin  involved  in  what  I 
saw  before  me.  At  a  single  glance,  I  have  taken  in  as 
many  as  from  three  to  five  hundred  of  these  wretched 
beings,  with  faces  and  forms  so  marred  and  disfigured 
that  it  made  my  heart  ache  to  look  at  them ;  and  for 
every  individual  I  saw  before  me,  somewhere,  away 
out  of  sight  and  observation,  were  from  one  to  half 
a  score  of  wronged  and  suffering  ones,  who,  but  for 
the  debasement  of  these  men,  might  have  been 
living  in  comfort  find  happiness.  This  is  the 
thought  that  intensifies  our  pity  and  stirs  our  com 
passion  when  we  look  at  even  a  single  one  of  these 
wrecks  of  humanity. 

"  But  when  we  begin  to  aggregate  these  human 
disasters,  the  result  becomes  appalling.  We  take 
an  isolated  home.  It  is  the  dwelling-place  of  sweet 
content.  But  the  demon  of  drink  comes  in,  and 
beauty  fades,  and  peace  retires,  and  sorrow,  and 
pain,  and  unutterable  woe  take  up  their  abode  in 
the  desolate  habitation ;  or  it  is  thrown  down  and 
utterly  destroyed.  How  sad  we  grow  over  a  single 
case  like  this,  when  it  comes  clearly  before  us. 
What,  then,  is  the  fearful  aggregate?  Statistics 
place  the  great  army  of  drunkards  in  this  country 
at  six  hundred  thousand !  It  may  be  more,  it  may 
be  less.  Do  we  place  the  average  too  great  when  we 
Bay,  that,  for  every  one  of  these,  five  persons  are 


366  SAVED. 

hurt  in  some  way — fathers,  mothers,  wives,  children, 
sisters,  brothers  or  dependents  ?  Three  millions  of 
persons  involved  in  the  debasement  and  ruin  of 
these  six  hundred  thousand !  What  an  awful  ag 
gregate,  when  we  comprehend  just  what  this  debase 
ment  and  ruin  means  and  involves !  Then  statistics 
tell  us  that,  from  two  to  three  hundred  thousand 
children  are  yearly  deserted,  or  orphaned,  and  sent 
to  poor-houses,  or  bequeathed  to  private  and  public 
charities,  in  consequence  of  intemperance;  to  say 
nothing  of  the  little  ones  who  perish  from  neglect 
and  cruelty.  Of  the  crimes  committed,  our  news 
papers  and  our  police,  our  courts  and  prison  records 
make  perpetual  advertisement,  until  the  awful  facts 
become  so  familiar  that  the  public  grow  hardened 
and  almost  indifferent.  In  a  single  year,  in  tho 
State  of  New  York,  according  to  one  of  the  reports 
of  the  Prison  Association,  not  less  than  from  sixty 
to  seventy  thousand  persons,  men,  women  and 
children,  were  committed  to  the  jails  of  that  com 
monwealth,  and  seven-eighths  of  these  commitments, 
according  to  the  estimates  of  the  prison -keepers, 
were  due  either  directly  or  indirectly  to  the  use  of 
intoxicating  liquors.  The  estimates  of  leading  tem 
perance  writers  as  to  the  number  of  men  and  women 
who  are  yearly  sent  to  prison  in  consequence  of 
using  strong  drink,  give  the  figures  at  one  hundred 
thousand ;  but  taking  the  returns  of  New  York  as 
a  basis  of  calculation,  and  they  swell  to  more 
startling  numbers. 


AS  BY  FIRE.  3(37 

"  The  mortality  of  drunkenness  is  another  aspect 
of  the  case  fearful  to  contemplate.  Sixty  thousand 
are  said  to  die  annually  in  this  country  from  the 
direct  effects  of  inebriety ;  and  where  epidemics 
attack  a  community,  the  intemperate,  and  those  who 
use  alcoholic  drinks  regularly,  are  the  first  to  yield 
to  their  malign  influences.  A  remarkable  instance 
of  this  is  given  in  a  letter  written  to  the  Boston 
Medical  Journal,  in  1853,  by  Dr.  Carnwright,  of 
New  Orleans.  The  yellow  fever,  he  said,  came  down 
like  a  storm  on  the  devoted  city,  sweeping  off  five 
thousand  intemperate  men,  before,  so  far  as  he  was 
able  to  get  at  the  facts,  a  single  sober  man  was 
touched  by  the  epidemic.  A  Liverpool  coroner 
made  public  declaration,  that  gin  caused  him  to 
hold  annually  a  thousand  more  inquests  than  would 
otherwise  have  been  the  case ;  and  he  said,  farther, 
that  he  had  seen,  since  holding  the  office  of  coroner, 
so  many  murders  by  poison,  by  drowning,  by  hang 
ing  and  by  cutting  the  throat,  in  consequence  of 
drinking  ardent  spirits,  that  he  was  astonished  that 
the  legislature  did  not  interfere  to  stop  the  sale  of 
intoxicating  liquor.  It  was  his  belief,  that  from  ten 
to  fifteen  thousand  persons  died  annually  in  that 
metropolis  from  the  effects  of  gin-drinking. 

"  Looking  beyond  the  questions  of  health,  mor 
tality  and  personal  suffering  involved  in  the  use  of 
intoxicants,  the  loss  to  the  whole  people  in  material 
prosperity  is  something  startling.  If,  as  has  been 
established  over  and  over  again  by  the  testimony  o'' 


368  SAVED 

judges,  grand  juries  and  prison -keepers,  from  sixty 
to  eighty  per  cent,  of  the  heavy  cost  of  maintaining 
courts,  prisons  and  almshouses,  is  due  to  the  crime 
and  pauperism  engendered  by  drinking,  we  have  in 
this  item  alone  a  vast  drain  upon  the  productive 
industry  of  the  country.  What  this  drain  is  may 
be  seen  from  a  single  fact.  In  Ulster  County,  New 
York,  a  committee  was  appointed  to.  ascertain  from 
reliable  sources,  the  percentage  on  every  dollar  of 
tax  paid  to  the  county  which  was  required  for  the 
support  of  her  paupers,  and  the  prosecution  and 
maintainance  of  her  criminals;  and,  after  careful 
examination,  it  was  announced,  that  on  every  dollar 
of  tax  paid,  sixty-three  cents  was  the  penalty  ex 
acted  from  the  people  for  permitting  the  liquor 
traffic  to  be  carried  on  in  that  county.  But  this  is 
only  a  single  item.  The  loss  in  productive  labor 
suffered  through  the  voluntary  or  enforced  idleness 
of  six  or  seven  hundred  thousand  drunken  men, 
paupers  and  criminals,  to  say  nothing  of  the  reduced 
power  of  work  and  production  that  inevitably  attends 
moderate  drinking,  as  it  is  called,  adds  an  additional 
drawback  to  the  general  prosperity.  There  is  yet 
another  view  of  this  case.  Hundreds  of  thousands 
of  bushels  of  grain,  instead  of  going  to  feed  the 
people,  are  annually  used  for  the  production  of  bev 
erages  which  injure  the  health  of  all  who  drink 
them,  and  create  an  army  of  paupers  and  criminals. 
The  amount  paid  for  these  beverages  by  those  who 
drink  them,  is  from  eight  hundred  to  a  thousand 


AS  BY  FIRE, 

millions  of  dollars  every  year,  or  more  than  the 
value  of  all  the  flour,  cotton  goods,  boots  and  shoes, 
woolen  goods,  clothing,  books  and  newspapers  pro 
duced  in  the  whole  country.  A  government  of  the 
people,  by  the  people,  and  for  the  people,  can  hardly 
be  called,  in  all  things,  a  wise  government,  so  long 
as  it  fosters  and  protects,  by  legal  enactment,  and 
draws  a  part  of  its  revenue,  from  a  traffic  like  thisv 
which  offers  no  good  to  the  people,  but  mars  their 
industry,  corrupts  their  politics,  and  sows  crime, 
pauperism,  disease  and  death  broadcast  over  the 
land.  Is  it  not  time  that  the  citizens  of  this  great 
nation  called  a  halt ;  and  time  that  every  man  who 
holds  in  regard  the  well-being  of  his  neighbor,  and 
the  happiness  and  safety  of  his  children,  should 
come  out  from  among  the  friends  of  so  monstrous 
an  evil,  and  set  himself  resolutely  to  the  work  of 
its  repression  ?" 

"The  work   of  repression   is   a  very  slow  and 
halting  work,"  came  in  the  clear,  calm  voice  of  a 

woman,  and  I  turned  towards  Mrs.  K ,  who  had 

been  silent  up  to  this  time.  Judge  Arbuckle,  who 
had  been  listening  with  a  grave,  judicial  attention 
to  Mr.  Granger,  almost  started  at  the  sound  of  her 
voice,  and  looked  at  her  with  a  lifting  of  his  eye 
brows,  and  awakened  surprise  on  his  countenance. 
"  Its  progress,  if  there  be  really  any  progress  at  all, 
except  in  one  or  two  exceptional  States,"  she  went  on, 
"  is  so  slow  as  to  be  utterly  disheartening.  I  depre 
ciate  none  of  the  efforts  which  are  being  made  to 


370 


SAVED 


restrict  the  traffic  and  warn  the  people  against  the 
use  of  a  substance  which  yields  no  single  benefit, 
but  curses  with  unutterable  woes  every  one  on  whom 
its  blight  falls — they  all  have  their  measure  of  good 
— but,  while  we  wait  for  the  agencies  of  repression, 
thousands,  and  tens  of  thousands  are  perishing 
around  us.  Shall  we  stand  off  and  see  these  wretched 
men  and  women  so  perish  while  we  seek  to  influence 
legislation,  and  wait  for  a  new  public  sentiment  that 
shall  lessen  the  evil  in  some  far-off  time  to  come  ? 
Shall  a  man,  whom  an  effort  on  my  part  might  save, 
die  at  my  door,  and  I  be  guiltless  ?" 

"  There  are  many  agencies  of  reform  and  means 
of  rescue  in  active  operation,  as  you  are  well  aware, 

Mrs.  K ,"  said  Mr.  Stannard.  "  Our  inebriate 

asylums  and  reformatory  homes  are  saving  a  largo 
number  of  men.'* 

"  For  every  man  that  is  so  saved,  I  thank  God, 
and  bless  the  agency  that  saved  him,"  was  answered. 
"  But  what  impression  can  less  than  a  score  of  such 
institutions,  scattered  here  and  there  over  the  land, 
excellent  as  they  are,  make  upon  the  six  hundred 
thousand  drunkards  Mr.  Granger  has  just  told  us 
about  ?  Are  these  to  be  left  to  perish,  while  we  are 
trying  to  establish  more  asylums  for  their  treatment 
and  cure  ?  There  must  be  quicker,  readier  and  less 
costly  means  for  more  than  four  out  of  five  of  these 
six  hundred  thousand,  or  they  are  lost  forever." 

"You,  and  the  noble  women  who  are  at  work 
with  you  in  the  cause  of  reform  and  restoration, 


AS  BY  FIRE.  37  l 

are  giving  us,  I  trust,  a  solution  of  this  great 
problem." 

"  God  is  giving  the  solution,"  replied  Mrs.  K , 

in  a  low,  subdued  voice.  "  In  our  blindness  we  went 
to  Him,  and  He  showed  us  the  way.  We  called 
upon  Him  in  our  weakness  and  our  despair,  and  He 
heard  and  answered  us." 

Mrs.  K spoke  with  a  confidence  of  manner 

that  brought  a  look  of  wonder  to  the  face  of  Judge 
Arbuckle,  and  caused  him  to  lean  a  little  forward  in 
his  chair. 

"You  men  may  continue  to  fight  this  foe  of  intem 
perance  with  carnal  aids  to  warfare,  if  you  will,  but 
we  have  found  in  the  Sword  of  the  Spirit  the  most 
effective  weapon  that  we  can  use  against  him,"  Mrs. 

K continued,  a  soft  smile  just  touching  her 

lips,  to  show  that  she  did  not  mean  any  discourtesy 
by  her  form  of  speech. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  the  Sword  of  the 
Spirit,  madam?"  asked  the  judge,  as  he  leaned 
towards  Mrs.  K ,  and  looked  at  her  still  curi 
ously. 

"  Prayer  and  faith,"  she  replied. 

"  Oh !  I  see,"  he  returned,  with  a  slight  betrayal 
of  amused  incredulity  in  his  voice.  "  Prayer  and 
faith  are  used  as  a  kind  of  exorcism  by  which  the 
devil  of  drink  is  cast  out." 

"  If  you  choose  to  put  it  in  that  form,  judge,"  the 
lady  answered,  with  a  smile  still  lingering  on  her 
gentle  lips. 


SA  VED 

"  And  you  really  believe,  madam,  that  prayer  will 
make  a  drunken  man  sober?" 

"No,  I  do  not  believe  anything  of  the  kind." 

"  What  then  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

"I  believe  that  God  will  do  it  in  answer  to 
prayers." 

"  In  answer  to  your  prayer  ?" 

"If,"  asked  Mrs.  K ,  "there  lived  in  my 

neighborhood  a  man  who  had  become  miserably 
drunken;  who  wasted  his  earnings  in  liquor,  and 
neglected  and  abused  his  wife  and  children ;  and  I, 
pitying  his  state,  and  earnestly  desiring  to  save  him, 
should  go  to  the  Lord  and  present  his  case,  and 
pray  that  His  Holy  Spirit  might  strike  conviction 
to  his  soul,  and  give  him  not  only  to  see  the  dreadful 
sin  he  was  committing,  but  lead  him  to  repentance; 
and  suppose  that,  after  I  had  so  presented  him  to 
the  Lord,  for  a  single  time,  or  for  many  times,  he 
should  repent,  and  turn  from  his  evil  course,  and 
be  gathered  into  the  fold  of  Christ,  what  would  you 
say?" 

"  Have  you  ever  known  such  a  case  ?"  asked  the 
judge. 

"  Yes ;  and  not  only  one,  but  many,  each,  of 
course,  with  its  peculiar  aspects  and  incidents,  but 
all  quite  as  remarkable  as  the  one  I  have  given." 

"  There  is  something  more  in  this  than  appears 
on  the  surface,"  remarked  the  judge.  "  I  do  not 
believe  that  God  was  waiting  for  your  prayers  before 
He  would  lead  the  man  of  whom  you  speak  to 


AS  B  7  FIRE.  373 

repentance  and  reformation  of  life.  What  is  you* 
view  of  the  case  ?" 

"  I  know,"  replied  Mrs.  K ,  "  that  all  things 

are  promised  to  those  who  pray,  believing ;  and  I 
know,  that  after  I  had  prayed,  in  the  case  I  have 
instanced,  and  in  many  other  such  cases,  God  has 
brought  conviction  and  repentance.  Just  how  it 
was  all  done,  I  do  not  pretend  to  know.  I  am  not 
so  much  interested  in  the  philosophy  of  this  salva 
tion  as  in  the  glorious  fact  And  I  am  not  alone, 
Jud^e  Arbuckle,  in  my  experiences.  Hundreds  of 
pious  women  in  this  city,  and  thousands  more  all 
over  the  land,  are  saving  poor  drunkards  by  scores 
and  hundreds  through  the  power  of  faith  and 
prayer.  If  you  could  be  with  us  in  our  daily 
meetings,  and  see  the  men  whom  we  are  rescuing, 
and  hear  them  speak  of  the  power  of  Divine  grace 
in  setting  them  free  from  the  slavery  of  appetite, 
your  heart  would  be  so  stirred  within  you  that  you 
would  accept  the  fact  of  the  value  of  prayer,  and  leave 
the  philosophy  to  be  discussed  and  settled  hereafter." 

"  If  you  can  lead  a  man  to  pray  for  himself,  and 
he  then  gain,  through  prayer  and  intercession,  the 
power  to  resist  and  control  his  appetite,  I  can  see  a 
clear  relation  between  cause  and  effect,"  said  the 
judge.  "  He  comes  voluntarily  into  a  new  attitude 
towards  the  Lord,  who  can  now  give  him  grace  and 
strength,  because  he  is  ready  to  receive  it.  But 
how  the  prayer  in  which  he  has  no  part  can  have 
any  avail,  passes  my  comprehension." 


374  SA  VED 

"  We  who  are  in  the  midst  of  this  great  Gospel 
temperance  work  are  so  crowded  with  surprising 
instances  of  the  effect  of  our  prayers  for  others — 
even  for  men  and  women  whom  we  have  not  seen, 
whose  names  often  we  do  not  know,  nor  sometimes 
their  places  of  abode — that  doubt  is  no  longer  possi 
ble,"  Mrs.  K replied.  "And  when,  at  our 

daily  afternoon  prayer  and  experience  meetings,  we 
make  requests  of  God  for  those  who  ask  for  our  in 
tercession  in  their  behalf,  we  do  it  in  full  confidence 
that  we  shall  be  heard  and  answered,  though  noth 
ing  of  the  result  should,  in  many  cases,  ever  come 
to  our  knowledge." 

The  deep  calmness  of  a  settled  conviction  was  seen 
in  the  countenance  of  Mrs.  K ,  as  she  spoke. 

"  We  know  so  little  of  the  spiritual  world  that 
lies  in  and  around  us,"  said  Mr.  Stannard,  at  this 
point  of  the  conversation,  "  and  of  the  laws  which 
govern  therein,  that  we  must  not  be  surprised  if  some 
of  its  phenomena  are  found  difficult  of  explanation. 
We  cannot,  knowing  as  we  do,  that  God  is  infinite 
and  essential  love,  and  that  His  compassion  is  so 
great  that  our  compassion  in  its  tenderest  move 
ments  bears  no  ratio  to  it  whatever,  believe  that  He 
withholds  His  saving  power  from  any  sin-sick  and 
perishing  soul  until  we  ask  Him  to  be  gracious. 
But  rather  that,  in  our  prayers  for  and  thought  of 
the  individual  for  whom  we  pray,  spiritual  forces  or 
influences,  whose  action  is  above  the  region  of  our 
knowledge,  are  set  in  motion,  as  the  atmospheres 


AS  BY  FIRE.  375 

are  set  in  motion  by  the  concussions  we  call  sound, 
and  so  thought  and  feeling  be  stirred  and  acted 
upon,  and  he  for  whom  we  pray  be  led  to  turn  to 
the  Lord,  whose  ears  are  always  open  to  His  chil 
dren's  cry  for  help,  and  whose  hands  are  always 
stretched  out  to  save." 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,"  remarked  Mrs.  K ,  "  I 

am  not  wise  enough  to  say  whether  Mr.  Stannard's 
view  be  right  or  wrong ;  but  this  I  know,  wonder 
ful  results  follow  the  prayers  we  offer  to  God,  and 
men  whom  we  are  asked  to  pray  for  to-day — 
drunken,  debased  and  evil  men ;  husbands,  sons, 
brothers,  for  whom  our  prayers  are  asked  by  wives, 
mothers  and  sisters — often,  within  a  day  or  a  week, 
present  themselves  at  our  meetings,  or  at  other 
places  where  Gospel  meetings  are  held,  and  sign  the 
pledge,  and  give  their  hearts  to  Christ.  And  so 
long  as  we  women  see  these  results,  we  should  con 
tinue  to  pray  mightily  to  God." 

A  few  moments  of  thoughtful  silence,  and  then 

Mr.  Stannard  said,  addressing  Mrs.  K :  "I 

know  all  about  what  you  are  doing  in  this  city,  and 
the  great  success  of  your  work ;  and  I  see  in  the 
organization  of  a  kindred  work  in  every  city,  town 
and  neighborhood  all  over  our  country,  the  largest 
and  most  effective  agency  of  temperance  reform  ever 
known  in  our  liquor-cursed  land.  My  only  fear  is, 
that  you  may  depend  so  completely  on  prayer,  and 
faith,  and  Divine  grace,  in  the  work  of  saving 
drunkards,  that  you  will  fail  to  use  the  natural 


37G 

means  of  reform  and  restoration  that  are  as  essential 
to  permanent  cure  as  the  others." 

"A  woman's  instincts  are  swift  and  true,  Mr. 
Stannard,"  was  the  reply.  "  We  know  that  a  man, 
with  hunger  gnawing  at  his  stomach,  is  in  a  poor 
condition  for  effective  praying ;  that  if  he  be  home 
less  and  idle,  he  is  especially  exposed  to  temptation, 
and  the  feeble  spiritual  life  he  may  have  found  will 
be  almost  sure  of  extinguishment  in  its  foul  breath. 
We  know  that  health  must  come  back  to  the  body, 
and  its  orderly  life  be  restored,  if  we  would  keep 
down  the  old  craving  desire,  and  give  to  spiritual 
forces  an  unobstructed  sphere  of  action.  While  we 
believe  in  prayer,  and  the  grace  of  God,  and  a 
change  of  heart,  we  believe  also  in  the  saving  power 
of  natural  and  physical  health,  and  order  as  well. 
The  man  to  be  truly  saved  must  be  saved  within 
and  without.  But,  with  God's  grace  in  his  heart, 
he  will  find  the  work  of  keeping  his  outer  life  in 
order  a  far  easier  task  than  if  he  tried  to  do  it  in 
his  own  strength.  And  herein  it  is  that  our  work 
is  meeting  with  such  large  success.  We  point  the 
poor,  exhausted  inebriate,  who  comes  to  us  in  his 
rags  and  defilements,  to  Him  who  is  able  to  save, 
and  urge  him  to  cast  himself  upon  His  love  and 
mercy.  To  make  new  resolves  and  new  pledges; 
but  with  this  difference  from  the  old  resolves  and 
pledges,  that  now  prayer  is  added  to  the  new  reso 
lutions,  and  spiritual  strength  asked  humbly  and 
trustingly  from  God.  We  take  him  to  the  church- 


AS  BY  FIRE.  377 

door,  and  invite  him  to  enter  and  cast  in  his  lot 
with  religious  people ;  helping  him  to  form  a  new 
external,  as  well  as  a  new  internal  life.  He  is 
thus  removed  from  old,  debasing  associations,  and 
brought  into  fellowship  with  pious  people,  who  take 
him  by  the  hand,  and  if  he  have  any  ability  for 
Christian  work,  find  him  something  to  do  in  the 
Sunday-school,  in  the  prayer-meetings,  in  the  tem 
perance  work  of  his  neighborhood,  or  in  anything 
else  that  is  good  and  useful." 

"And  this  is  what  you  mean  by  Gospel  temper 
ance,"  said  Judge  Arbuckle,  his  fine  face  lighting 
up  beautifully. 

"  It  is  one  of  its  phases,"  answered  Mrs.  K . 

"And  the  best  and  most  promising  phase,  I'll 
warrant  you,"  returned  the  judge,  with  rising  en 
thusiasm.  "  Why  this  is  church  work !  I'm  a  good 
churchman,  you  see,  madam  ;  and  believe,  with  our 
excellent  bishop,  that  all  saving  reforms  should 
originate  in,  and  be  fostered  and  carried  on  by,  the 
church." 

"What  if  the  church,  in  its  organized  form, 
neglects,  or  wholly  ignores  temperance  work — «ven 
Gospel  temperance  work — what  then?  Shall  we 
wait  for  the  church  and  let  the  poor  drunkard  perish 
because  she  neglects  her  duty  ?" 

"  God  forbid  !"  responded  the  judge.  "  There  is 
no  monopoly  in  the  work  of  lifting  up  fallen  hu 
manity." 

"  Nor  in  soul-saving,"  said  Mr.  Stannard.     "  But 


378  SAVED 

this  drift  which  the  subject  has  taken,  brings  us  face 
to  face  with  the  church  and  its  great  responsibilities. 
It  has  something  more  to  do  than  the  provision  of 
a  Sunday  service  for  the  people.  The  preaching  of 
the  Gospel  is  one  thing,  and  the  doing  of  Gospel 
work  another.  The  building  of  stately  church  edi 
fices,  with  costly  finish  and  exquisite  ornamenta 
tion,  into  which  so  much  of  the  pecuniary  means  of 
a  congregation  are  absorbed,  as  to  leave  it  too  often 
with  a  sense  of  poverty  and  an  excuse  for  drawing 
the  purse-strings  more  closely,  when  suffering  or 
destitute  humanity  stretches  forth  its  pleading  hands, 
may  be  all  well  enough ;  but  worship  in  a  less 
expensive  and  ostentatious  building,  and  a  more 
Christ-like  concern  for  the  sick  and  perishing  souls 
that  lie  helpless,  it  may  be,  within  the  sound  of  its 
choir  and  organ,  would,  I  think,  be  far  better  and 
more  acceptable  to  God." 

"  You  do  not  approve,  then,  of  the  splendid 
churches  and  grand  cathedrals  which,  in  all  Chris 
tian  countries,  have  been  erected  to  the  honor  of 
God  and  dedicated  to  His  worship?"  said  Judge 
Arbuckle. 

"  Not  if  they  are  built  and  maintained  at  the  cost 
of  human  souls." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  reach  your  meaning,  Mr. 
Stannard." 

"  Let  me  give  an  illustration.  We  will  take  the 
case  of  a  congregation  which  has  built  for  itself  a 
splendid  marble  or  brown-stone  church  at  a  cost  of 


AS  BY  FIRE.  379 

one,  or  two,  or  three  hundred  thousand  dollars,  into 
which  the  people  come  twice  every  Sunday  to  hear 
the  service  and  preaching,  and  once  or  twice  a  week 
for  evening  prayers  or  a  lecture.  This  elegant 
structure  is  an  ornament  to  the  neighborhood,  and 
the  people  who  have  'built  it  feel  proud  of  their  fine 
edifice,  and  not  a  few  of  them  contrast  it,  a  little 
depreciatively,  it  may  be,  with  the  achievements  of 
certain  sister  churches  in  the  same  line,  and  take 
credit  to  themselves  for  having  thrown  these  just  a 
trifle  into  shadow.  Now,  as  to  the  spiritual  value 
of  all  this — and  no  good  is  gained  in  any  church 
work  unless  it  be  a  spiritual  good — there  may  be 
serious  doubts.  Has  the  creation  of  a  grand  temple 
for  the  worship  of  God  wrought  in  the  minds  of 
those  by  whom  it  was  erected  that  state  of  receptive 
humility  which  is  the  dwelling-place  of  Him  who 
says,  '  I  am  meek  and  lowly  of  heart  ?'  Are  they 
humble,  more  teachable,  more  self-denying,  more 
self-forgetting,  more  given  to  good  works  than 
before?  What  if,  like  a  wise  corporation,  one  of 
these  congregations  had  invested  in  their  land, 
building  and  required  church  machinery,  just  one- 
half  of  the  sum  they  had  in  possession,  and  reserved 
the  other  half  for  working  capital  ?  Don't  you  see 
how  differently  the  case  would  stand  ?  Here  is  a 
church  that  cost  two  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
Now,  if  it  had  cost  but  one  hundred  thousand ;  and 
a  building  just  as  large  and  just  as  comfortable  could 
have  been  erected  for  that  sum — all  the  excess  is 
24 


380  SAVED 

but  imposing  display  and  ornamentation — that  con 
gregation  could  have  established  and  maintained, 
with  the  other  one  hundred  thousand  dollars,  a 
reformatory  home  for  inebriates,  like  the  Franklin 
Home  of  our  city,  and  been  the  means  of  saving 
from  fifty  to  a  hundred  fallen  men  every  year.  Or, 
it  could  have  placed  in  the  hands  of  its  pious 
women,  who,  like  Mrs.  K and  her  sister  work 
ers  in  this  Gospel  temperance  movement,  which  has 
already  wrought  such  marvelous  results,  the  money 
required  to  give  healthy  food,  and  sightly  clothing, 
and  safer  and  better  surroundings  to  the  poor, 
nerveless,  appetite-cursed  men  they  are  seeking  to 
save.  I  instance  but  these ;  there  are  many  other 
ways  in  which  the  reserved  working  capital  of  this 
church  might  be  used  for  the  good  of  souls.  Think! 
How  would  it  be  if  our  blessed  Lord  were  to  stand 
some  day  in  the  midst  of  that  congregation  ?  Would 
they  hear  from  His  lips,  as  His  eyes  took  in  the  rich 
ness  and  grandeur  of  the  temple  they  had  built  to 
His  honor,  and  then,  penetrating  its  stately  walls, 
went  searching  among  the  poor,  desolate  homes,  and 
wretched  hovels,  and  dens  of  vice  and  crime  that 
lay  in  the  very  shadow  of  its  beauty,  and  saw  His 
lost  sheep  perishing  there,  with  none  to  pity  or  to 
succor — would  they  hear  from  his  lips  the  words, 
'  Well  done?'  I  fear  not." 

"  You  have  struck  the  key-note  of  the  great  ques 
tion  that  lies  at  our  door  to-day,"  said  Mrs.  K , 

speaking  with  a  rising  earnestness  of  manner.    "Are 


AS  BY  FIRE.  331 

the  churches,  established  for  the  salvation  of  souls,  to 
remain  content  with  one  or  two  Sunday  services, 
and  a  week-night  prayer-meeting  or  lecture,  main 
tained,  in  many  cases,  at  an  expense  of  from  five  to 
fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year  ?  Can  you  find  in  any 
mere  secular  calling  so  large  an  investment  with 
such  meagre  returns  ?  The  theory  seems  to  be  that 
the  work  of  the  chuch,  as  a  body  of  Christian  men 
and  women,  is  limited  to  Sunday,  and  may  be  inter 
mitted  for  six  days." 

"  Let  us  be  careful  that  we  are  not  unjust,"  Mr. 
Stannard  replied.  "  I  stated  my  case  strongly,  in 
order  to  illustrate  my  views.  Many  of  our  churches 
are  active  in  good  works,  and  are  doing  much  for 
the  spiritually  destitute.  They  have  their  mission 
schools,  and  visiting  committees,  and  laborers  among 
the  poor ;  but  with  most  of  them  their  usefulness  is 
restricted  for  lack  of  means.  It  takes  so  much  to 
maintain  Sunday  worship  that  but  little  is  left  for 
anything  else." 

"  To  seek  and  to  save  that  which  was  lost.  It  was 

for  this  that  Christ  came."  Mrs.  K spoke  in  a 

low,  earnest  voice.  "Ah !  if  our  churches  all  over 
the  land  would  give  themselves  to  this  seeking  and 
saving  of  the  lost — of  those  who  have  fallen  so  low 
that,  to  common  eyes,  their  case  is  hopeless.  Would 
go  out  into  the  wilderness,  like  the  Good  Shepherd, 
seeking  for  and  bringing  back  the  lost  sheep.  These 
six  hundred  thousand  drunkards,  of  whom  over  a 
thousand  die  every  week;  what  hope  for  them  if 


382  SAVED 

the  church  comes  not  to  their  rescue  ? — for  the  churcli 
alone  can  lead  them  to  the  sure  refuge  of  Christ. 
The  world  knows  Him  not.  Only  in  a  few  cases  is 
a  human  hand  strong  enough  to  save.  If  the  larger 
number  be  not  led  to  take  hold  upon  Christ,  they 
must  perish  in  their  sin  and  degradation.  Think 
what  joy  there  would  be  in  Heaven,  if  all  the 
churches  in  the  land,  singly,  or  in  union  with  near 
sister  churches,  were  to  establish  Gospel  temperance 
meetings,  and  draw  into  them  these  six  hundred 
thousand  men  and  women — or  as  many  of  them  as 
felt  their  slavery  and  wretchedness  and  wished  to 
escape  therefrom.  The  very  thought  makes  my 
heart  stir  within  me." 

The  evening  had  worn  away,  the  hours  passing 
with  little  heed  from  any  of  us,  until  it  was  time 
to  separate.  The  judge  had  risen  to  his  feet, 

and  Mrs.  Arbuckle  and  Mrs.  K were  moving 

from  the  parlor  in  order  to  make  ready  for 
going  away,  when  Mr.  Granger,  who  had  been 
silent  for  most  of  the  time,  said,  in  a  voice  that 
at  once  gave  him  an  attentive  audience:  "I 
would  like,  before  we  part,  to  say  one  or  two 
things  that  have  come  crowding  into  my  mind  this 
evening.  All  good  work  is  from  the  Lord.  Every 
effort,  of  whatever  kind,  perfect  or  imperfect,  which 
has  for  its  end  the  saving  of  men  from  evils  and 
disorders,  has  in  it  a  heavenly  power  and  the 
approval  of  God ;  and  we  must,  therefore,  be 
careful  that,  while  we  magnify  the  means  of  saiva- 


AS  BY  FIR F. 

lion,  which  to  us  seem  most  effective,  we  do  not 
depreciate  or  throw  hindrances  in  the  way  of  those 
who  labor  in  different  fields,  and  with  methods 
different  from  our  own.  This  work  of  saving  the 
people  from  the  curse  of  drink,  in  which  we  are  all 
so  deeply  interested,  has  many  aspects,  because  men 
differ  not  only  in  personal  character  and  tempera 
ment,  but  in  their  external  conditions  and  the  ways 
of  thinking  and  habits  of  life,  which  grow  out  of 
these  conditions.  The  influences  that  will  power 
fully  affect  one,  may  have  little  weight  with  another. 
Our  panacea,  in  which  we  have  such  an  abounding 
faith,  may  fail  in  many  cases  where  another  remedy 
would  work  a  cure ;  while  cases  of  failure  under  a 
diverse  treatment  from  ours  may  find  a  quick 
restoration  on  coming  into  our  hands.  Let  us,  then, 
be  watchful  over  ourselves  in  this  matter,  and  be 
readier  to  give  a  'God  speed'  to  methods  different, 
and,  it  may  be,  less  efficient  than  our  own,  than  to 
depreciate  them  by  comparison,  or  hurt  their  influ 
ences  by  direct  condemnation.  Whatever  tends,  in 
even  the  smallest  degree,  to  abate  this  curse,  must  be 
recognized  as  good  work.  It  may  be  through  re 
strictive  laws,  or  binding  pledges,  or  social  organiza 
tion,  or  appeals  to  the  people  by  tht  press  and  the 
platform,  or  the  opening  of  cheap  coffee  rooms.  It 
may  be  in  Christian  work  and  prayer,  and  direct 
spiritual  help  from  God  through  these  appointed 
means,  in  which  I  have  the  strongest  faith.  It  may 
be  in  the  establishment  of  inebriate  asylums  and 


384  SAVED 

reformatory  homes,  where,  while  seeking  to  cure  by 
medical,  sanitary,  moral  and  religious  means,  the 
pathology  of  drunkenness  is  carefully  studied,  and 
the  skill  and  wisdom  of  the  medical  profession 
brought  to  the  examination  and  cure  of  one  of  the 
most  fearful  diseases  which  man,  by  self-indulgence, 
has  brought  upon  himself;  involving  in  disorder,  as 
it  does,  his  physical,  moral  and  spiritual  nature. 
Tolerance  of  views  and  harmony  of  action  are  what 
we  need  in  this  work.  If  I  think  my  methods  are 
best,  let  me  pursue  them  with  all  zeal  and  confi 
dence,  doing  what  good  I  can;  only  let  me  be 
careful  not  to  depreciate  my  brother's  methods,  of 
the  scope  and  value  of  which  I  may  know  far  less 
than  I  imagine." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Granger !"  came  with  a  hearty 

utterance  from  the  lips  of  Mrs.  K ,  who  had 

turned  back  into  the  parlor,  from  which  she  was 
passing  when  our  host  began  his  remarks.  "  You 
have  said  the  right  thing  in  the  right  way.  The 
temptation  to  magnify  our  own  particular  work, 
because  its  fruit  is  so  near  our  hands,  is  very  great. 
But,  apart  from  this ;  are  not  some  ways  of  doing  a 
thing  better  than  other  ways  ?  In  the  work  of  sal 
vation,  is  not  a  Divine  Hand  more  certain  to  save 
than  a  human  hand  ?" 

I  saw  a  light  break  suddenly  from  within  into 
Mr.  Granger's  face. 

"  If  we  can  lead  the  man,  in  whom  inebriation 
has  almost,  if  not  entirely,  destroyed  the  will-power, 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  335 

to  Him  who  is  able  to  cure  him  of  all  diseases,  if 
he  will  accept  the  means  of  cure,"  continued  Mrs. 

K ,  "  may  we  not  hope  to  do  more  and  better 

for  him  in  this  than  in  any  other  way  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  believe  it,  and  I  know  it,"  replied 
Mr.  Granger.  "  When  all  other  means  fail,  this 
may  be  held  as  sure ;  for  God's  strength,  if  we  take 
it  and  rest  upon  it,  never  fails." 

"  But,  after  all,"  spoke  out  Judge  Arbuckle,  "  is 
not  the  work  of  warning  and  prevention  better  than 
the  work  of  cure  ?  Of  all  that  I  have  heard  this 
evening,  and  much  of  it  has  been  deeply  interesting, 
nothing  has  impressed  me  like  the  evidence  brought 
by  Dr.  Gilbert  against  alcohol.  It  may  be  only 
imagination,"  and  he  smiled  a  little  dubiously  as  he 
said  it ;  "  but  I've  recognized  in  my  sensations  more 
than  half  a  dozen  symptoms  of  its  deleterious  effects 
since  he  described  its  action  on  the  tissues,  nerves 
and  organs  of  the  body."  He  stretched  his  arms 
upwards,  then  drew  them  down  again  slowly, 
pressed  one  hand  against  his  forehead,  and  then 
held  it  against  his  right  side. 

"  The  fact  is,"  going  on,  after  a  few  moments  of 
reflective  silence,  "  I  have  an  unpleasant  impression 
that  I'm  not  quite  as  sound  as  I  thought  mysel£ 
This  torpidity  of  liver  is  something,  I'm  afraid,  mow 
serious  than  I  had  supposed.  And  my  head,"  giving 
it  a  shake,  "  isn't  as  clear  as  it  ought  to  be.  There's 
often  a  heavy,  confused  feeling  about  it  which  I 
don't  like."  __As  he  stepped  out  to  move  across  the 


386  SAVED 

room,  I  saw  him  limp.  "One  of  my  knee-catchers 
again."  The  judge  made  a  slight  grimace. 

"A  diminished  supply  of  sinovial  fluid,"  remarked 
Dr.  Gilbert. 

"One  of  the  effects  of  old  age,"  said  the 
judge. 

"Anticipated,  most  likely,  by  the  alcohol  in  your 
wine  and  brandy,"  returned  the  doctor.  "You 
know  that,  of  all  substances  taken  into  the  body, 
none  absorbs  water  like  alcohol,  and  that  its  first 
action  on  the  membranes  is  to  rob  them  of  as  much 
of  this  fluid  as  it  has  the  power  to  appropriate. 
That  more  or  less  torpor  and  stiffness  of  the  joints 
and  limbs  should  come  in  consequence  of  the  con 
tinued  use  of  this  substance  is  not  at  ail  surprising ; 
nor  that  the  liver,  heart  and  brain,  and  some  of  the 
more  important  nerve  centres,  should  suffer  from 
disturbances  growing  out  of  unhealthy  structural 
changes." 

"  Not  at  all — not  at  all,"  answered  the  judge.  "  The 
thing  stands  to  reason.  What  I  wish  to  say,  is,  that 
as  prevention"  is  better  than  cure,  how  more  effect 
ually  can  the  cause  of  temperance  be  served,  than 
by  the  most  thorough  dissemination  of  the  truth  in 
regard  to  the  action  of  alcoholic  drinks  in  deterio 
rating  the  body  and  laying  the  foundation  for  painful 
and  too  often  fatal  diseases  ?  Why,  sir,  do  you  think 
that,  if  I  had  known  as  much  about  this  matter 
when  I  was  twenty-one  years  of  age,  as  I  do  now, 
that  I  would  have  joined  the  great  army  of  moderate 


AS  BY  FIRE. 

drinkers?  No,  sir!  It  was  because  I  believed, 
with  thousands  of  others,  that  these  enticing  bever 
ages  were  good  and  healthful,  when  not  taken  in 
excess,  that  I  used  them.  Now  I  see  that  there  is  a 
double  peril.  That,  besides  the  risk  of  becoming 
their  slave,  he  who  uses  them  is  surely  laying  the 
foundation  for  troublesome,  painful,  and,  often,  fatal 
diseases." 

"  It  is  in  consequence  of  the  physical  deteriora 
tions  wrought  by  alcohol  in  the  stomach  and  brain," 
said  the  doctor,  "that  appetite  increases,  and  the 
will  so  often  loses  power  over  it.  For  this  reason,  no 
one  is  safe  who  drinks  at  all ;  for  a  double  disease — 
moral,  as  well  as  physical — is  almost  sure  to  be  the 
result;  and  this  is  the  hardest  to  cure  of  all  dis 


eases." 


"And  yet  the  easiest,"  spoke  out  Mrs.  K ,  in 

her  clear,  sweet  voice,  "  if  one  will  only  come  to  the 
Great  Physician,  and  be  healed  by  the  touch  of  His 
hand." 

The  judge  let  his  gaze  rest,  for  a  moment  or  two, 
on  the  speaker's  calm  face  and  slightly  upturned 
eyes,  and  then,  as  he  withdrew  them,  said,  gravely : 
"  Prevention  is  best,  my  friends.  Don't  forget  the 
boys  and  the  young  men,  while  you  are  trying  to 
save  the  unhappy  fallen.  Conservation  is  in  the 
line  of  true  order.  And,  remember,  that  it  will 
cost  less  of  time,  effort  and  money  to  keep  ten  from 
falling  than  to  lift  up  and  restore  one  who  is  down. 
Don't  forget  to  provide  safeguards  for  the  ninety- 


388 

and-nine,  while  you  are  going  after  the  one  lost 
sheep." 

"  I  think,"  said  Dr.  Gilbert,  as  he  laid  his  hand 
upon  Judge  Arbuckle's  arm,  "  that  we  may  count 
you  as  upon  our  side  of  this  great  question." 

"  I  should  not  wonder  if  it  were  so,"  replied  the 
judge,  "  for  I  regard  the  argument,  so  far  as  pre 
sented  by  you,  as  complete ;  and,  until  I  am  satisfied 
that  you  are  in  error,  I  shall  take  no  more  risks. 
Too  much  of  comfort,  and  use  and  happiness  depend 
on  good  health,  to  put  it  lightly  in  jeopardy.  My 
wine  may  be  very  pleasant  and  exhilarating,  but  if 
there  be  really  poison  in  the  cup,  I  must,  as  a  wise 
and  prudent  man,  let  it  pass  untasted,  or  acknowl 
edge  myself  the  slave  of  an  appetite  that  will  have 
indulgence  at  any  cost." 

"And  you,  Henry?"  It  was  the  voice  of  Mr. 
Granger.  He  spoke  with  a  quiet  cheerfulness  that 
concealed  any  suspense  or  concern,  if  either  existed. 
Young  Pickering,  who  was  bending  towards  Miss 
Granger,  and  talking  to  her,  in  low  tones,  turned 
his  handsome  face  towards  the  speaker.  "On 
which  side  of  this  question  shall  we  count  you  ?" 

"On  the  right  side,  of  course,"  said  Amy,  not 
waiting  for  her  lover's  reply,  a  happy  smile  rippling 
over  her  face  as  she  spoke.  His  answer  I  did  not 
hear ;  but  that  it  was  entirely  satisfactory,  I  had  the 
assurance  a  few  weeks  later,  when  the  fact  of  their 
engagement  became  known  to  the  friends  of  the 
iamily. 


AS  B  Y  FIRE.  339 

And  here  our  story  must  end,  if  so  meagre  a  plot 
and  so  light  a  thread  of  narrative  can  be  called  a 
story.  "Whatever  interest  has  been  felt  in  the  char 
acters,  must  give  place  now  to  the  profounder  con 
victions  we  have  sought  to  awaken.  In  the  curse 
and  cure  of  drunkenness  lie  problems,  to  the  solution 
of  which  we  must  bring  neither  prejudice,  nor  pas 
sion,  nor  partisan  feeling,  but  the  truth,  if  we  can 
but  find  it ;  and  in  all  questions  that  concern  man's 
moral  and  spiritual  life,  as  well  as  his  natural  and 
physical  condition,  we  shall  be  more  apt  to  find  the 
truth,  if  we  consider  the  action  of  moral  and  spiritual 
laws,  in  their  connection  with  the  effects  that  lie 
lower  and  more  on  the  plane  of  common  observa 
tion,  than  if  we  made  light  of  them,  or  ignored  theia. 
altogether. 

There  is  one  fundamental  doctrine  of  Christianity, 
without  which  all  the  rest  must  go  for  nothing, 
We  have  it  from  the  mouth  of  the  Lord  Himself '. 
"  Ye  must  be  born  again."  Differ  as  we  may  about 
the  means  of  attaining  this  new  spiritual  birth,  all 
Christians  agree  that  it  involves  an  inner  change 
through  the  gift,  or  grace,  or  co-operative  agency  of 
the  Spirit  of  God,  by  which  man's  evil  nature,  with 
all  of  its  depraved  and  debasing  appetites,  is  either 
taken  wholly  away,  or  removed  from  the  centre  to 
the  circumference  of  his  life,  and  there  held  in 
complete  subjection.  There  is  no  condition  of  de 
pravity  or  wickedness  from  which  a  man  may  not 
be  saved  in  this  new  birth ;  and  there  is  no  power 


390 

in  all  hell  strong  enough  to  bear  him  back  into  his 
old  evil  life,  if  he  use  the  new  spiritual  strength  that 
has  been  born  in  him  from  above. 

On  this  fundamental  law  of  spiritual  life,  all  Chris 
tian  believers  stand ;  and  it  is  being  more  and  more 
widely  accepted  as  the  one  on  which  we  can  most 
surely  depend  in  our  efforts  to  save  men  from  the 
curse  of  drink.  It  is  on  this  conviction  that  what  is 
known  as  the  Gospel  temperance  movement  is  based; 
a  movement  in  which  the  old,  tireless  workers  in  the 
great  cause  of  reform  find  new  hope  and  encourage 
ment.  Heretofore  the  churches  have  held  themselves, 
in  too  many  instances,  aloof  from  active  participation 
in  the  cause  of  temperance,  leaving  it  to  be  dealt  with 
by  legal  enactment,  or  moral  suasion.  But  now 
they  are  beginning  to  see  that  this  work  is  really 
their  work,  and  that  to  them  has  been  given  the 
special  means  for  its  prosecution.  In  most,  if  not 
all,  of  our  inebriate  asylums  and  homes  of  reforma 
tion,  the  value  of  spiritual  aid  is  fully  and  practi 
cally  recognized ;  and  in  some  of  the  larger  institu 
tions  they  have  their  chaplain  ao  well  as  their 
physicians;  and  we  are  very  sure  that  where  the 
physician  of  the  body  and  the  physician  of  the  soul 
unite  in  their  efforts  to  cure  a  patient  who  is  sick  of 
an  infirmity  that  has  exhausted  his  body  and  en 
slaved  his  will,  his  case  is  far  more  hopeful  that  if 
he  were  left  in  the  care  of  either  alone. 

And  now,  what  need  to  write  another  sentence? 
We  cannot  make  clearer,  by  any  new  illustrations, 


AS  21 Y  FIRE. 


391 


this  leading  thought  of  our  story,  that  in  coming  to 
God  through  sincere  repentance  and  earnest  prayer, 
refraining,  at  the  same  time,  from  drink  and  all 
other  evils  of  life,  as  sins,  there  lies  for  the  inebriate 
a  road  to  reformation,  in  which  he  can  walk  safely, 
and  which  will  bear  him  farther  and  farther  from 
danger  with  every  step  he  takes  therein.  Some 
have  fallen  so  low — alas,  for  the  number! — that 
every  way  except  this  has  been  closed ;  but  all  will 
find  it  the  safest,  the  surest,  and  the  easiest  by  which 
to  reach  an  abiding  self-control. 


